A Poop Post

**This post is not for the faint of heart.  Proceed at your own bravery.**

I started the day off complaining that white shirts should be banned from motherhood.  I don't think I have a single white shirt in my possession that doesn't have a stain [thanks to that handsome boy I call my son].

I repent.  There are many a thing worse than stained white shirts.

I left Little Boy happily playing in the family room and grabbed the mail.  When I returned a few minutes later, he wanted to show me the pile of poop on the floor.  Smart mother that I am, I left the poop on the floor and whisked The Boy away to his room for some cleaning.  I knew that ignoring the source of the issue would only result in escalating the poop-on-the-floor problem.

I did my best to get most of the poop off of him, but soon realized that this wasn't your average poop clean up.  We ran to the bathtub.  I was scrubbing that cute little bum...and his legs...

And then...

I saw poop...

where you never never never ever ever...

ever never ever...

want to see poop.

Now, there are a few places you never (maybe even ever) want to see poop.  You never want to see poop in between your toes.  You never (maybe even ever) want to see poop on your wedding dress.

But you never never never ever ever ever never ever want to see poop in your child's mouth.  [Yes.  You read that right.]

Hyrum had poop at the corners of his mouth.  My child just ate his own poop.  I was mortified!  What do you do when your child eats poop?!  Hurry, quick!  Here's some milk, wash it down!  [Ahhh! Ew ew ew!  Bleck!]  Hurry, quick!  Let's brush your teeth!

Oh! To be the mother of a boy!