Reading another mother's recent Facebook comment made me think of a morning from this past summer. Like most mornings I heard Calvin wake up around 5:00 and romp around in his crib. I tried to roll over and get a little more sleep since I am up half a dozen times or more each night looking in on him; checking to see if he is having a seizure, checking to see if he is breathing or, when he is awake and standing in the crib, laying him back down and covering him. When I finally did wake up I went in to find Calvin completely covered in shit. At some point that morning his diaper had come off and for an hour or more he had been rolling around in it. I called for Michael to help me clean up. Poop was everywhere; it was in Calvin's hair, on is feet and hands, under his fingernails, on his face, legs, arms and spotting his sheet, pillow and comforter. And there he was just sitting sucking his thumb and poking his eye, completely oblivious.
Though I tried to find the humor in the situation, I found myself disturbed—not mad—just feeling despondent
over the big picture, as was Michael. Calvin, who is now six, will be wearing diapers for
the foreseeable future and likely into adulthood, if he makes it that far. So, we have a lot of years ahead of us dealing with shit.
The Facebook mother's comment, it seemed, portrayed the amusement and hilarity of her child's endearing behavior in taking off a soiled diaper, throwing the crap all around then falling asleep in it. Kids do the darndest things, don't they? Sure.