So, did that title pull you in or what?
It was an interesting early afternoon in the Stephens' household. We got home from eating lunch and buying groceries, and while Mary was putting the groceries away I decided to take out the trash. The one outside of our kitchen was full and I knew that the diaper genie in Henry's nursery also needed changed, so I got them together and brought them out to the dumpster. When I came back in I told Mary that I was going to go up to my office for a little bit. I climbed the steps and then remembered that I had yet to reset the diaper genie, so I walked into the nursery to fix it.
I looked down into the diaper genie and discovered a puddle of pee in the bottom, I sighed and then picked up the diaper genie and went into the bathroom. I grabbed a bundle of paper towels from beneath the sink and proceeded to mop up the pee. I then came to the realization that I probably didn't want to just leave the urine soaked paper towels in the bathroom trash (mainly because it has no bag), so I decided to go downstairs and get a small trash bag for it. I proceeded down the stairs when Mary called out, "Can you get me a new shirt?"
I finished coming down the stairs to find that Henry had peed through his diaper, onesie, pants and finally onto Mary's shirt. Mary had already grabbed a new shirt for Henry so I grabbed his emergency pants from his diaper bag. Mary told me that she would get her own shirt and I proceeded to tell her why I had come down in the first pace. On the bright side it didn't appear that any urine had dripped from the bag on the way down the stairs or out the door. I then went back upstairs to finish cleaning out the diaper genie.
I tell you all of this because it is kind of funny, but also because my biggest worry about having a baby was dealing with pee and poop. I have a rather delicate gag reflex and I worried that I may just throw up on Henry if he pooped. I had never changed a diaper before and was in no way looking forward to doing it over and over and over and over and over again. When I told my mother this fear she replied that when it was your own child it wouldn't matter all that much, that you realize that they need cleaned and they can't do it themselves so you know you have to do it for them.
Upon hearing that advice I thought, "Yeah, right," in a very sarcastic way. But in retrospect I should have thought, "Yeah, right," in a more understanding way. Because it is completely and utterly true, at least in my case. I know that there are people out there that don't feel the same way, people who allow their children to stay in dirty diapers way longer than they should. People who mistreat their children, people who abuse their children. Praise God I am not one of them. When Henry pees and poops and spits-up I have this inner need to protect him, to care for him, to make things better for him. And I know that he can pee and poop and spit-up as much as he needs to and I will be there to clean him and change him and care for him until there is no longer strength in my arms and breath in my lungs.
I wish I could go back and tell my pre-birth self that it would all be okay, that sure poop smells but the smell is never bad enough that you can't overcome it. I would tell this past Kenny that he would be cleaning pee and poop and spit-up off of chairs and ottomans and carpets and blankets and off of shirts and pants and hands of both Henry and himself. I would tell him that nothing is more important that Henry being a happy and healthy baby. I would tell him that as soon as he saw that big smile and bright eyes the smell of poop the dampness and pee and the thought of spit-up would all just fade away and something very primal would take over and he would do what needed to be done to make sure that smile never faded and those eyes continued to shine.
Peace and Love,
Pastor K
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