Warning: If you're eating, have a weak stomach, or just don't like hearing about poop nonstop, then stop reading NOW cause I'm about to open a can of venting... and it's all about stools, feces, poop, doodie, dung, patties, crap, sh*t, diarrhea, Mr. Hanky the Christmas pooh.... POOPY!
Oh, and if you're a male follower that has told me you don't like my whiny, "motherhood is so hard" posts? You might not care to read this one.
There. You've all been warned.
I seriously feel like I live the life of a dung beetle... just rolling around a big giant ball of pooh in the barren desert. I want to stop looking at pooh, wiping up pooh, cleaning pooh off every blessed thing I own... talking about pooh, writing about pooh.... I am SO DONE with this SH*T! Literally.
So, I think I've mentioned here and there that my 14 1/2 year old disabled daughter, CB, is in a diaper. After 10 years of "toilet training" nothing has improved at school or home. It's just soooooo not happening. Therefore, changing diapers is part of life. I will NEVER be done with diapers...even after my little Rella uses the potty, I'm not done.
Oh, and I'm not sure I mentioned that CB is what they call a "fecal smearer" meaning she gets into a dirty diaper, covers her hands and body with it and whatever is nearby: walls, rugs, bedding, you name it. This has been an on-going problem forever. It's honestly the LEAST fun part of her disabiling condition. That's putting it mildly.
So, typically we have a fecal smear 1-3 times a week. That's an average. Sometimes we'll go a week with nothing: That's a major celebration.
But for the past 9 solid days in a ROW I have had to clean up a huge giant fecal smear/head to toe poop incident. NINE days. Oh, and 2 year old Rella has joined in the fun and this week she TOO has removed her poopy diaper and left messes for me. Oh, and Rella's also flat out refused to nap for over a week and just disrobes in her crib and pees all over. Twice I walked in and found her naked with soaking wet hair. I still can't figure out how she peed on her HEAD but she did. Flippin' Houdini that kid.
CB's fecal smearing always happens at the most inopportune times... Like 40 minutes before 10 ladies are coming over to bookclub at my house and I'm in the middle of preparing the food and .... here comes CB down the stairs with poop in her hair, mouth, up her nose, all over both hands as if she dipped her hands into melted fondue chocolate.... smearing it all over the walls and stairs as she goes. Yeah.... right before bookclub... and my husband isn't home from work yet to help and the 3 other kids are running all over, making messes, crying, fighting, spazing out, complaining... I thought someone would have to take me to the nut house. The week just went on from there - between Rella and CB I think they were both seeing how far they could push me into a Mommy Dearest Moment, but I'm holding strong!
So, do you see where I'm going with this? Nowhere. There is nothing to this story except venting about the CRAP that I'm mired in day in and day out. Just crap. Constant. Literal crap as in feces from someone's bowels. EveryF*ingWhere. And while I usually handle these things pretty well, I need a moment to vent because right at this moment I'm ready to have a feces-induced nervous flippin' breakdown. For Real. Because it's not just a bad day, a bad week, a "phase" soon to be outgrown. It is a life sentence.
Others are blessed with the knowledge that "things will change" but there are things for me that will not change. I am completely willing to accept this and I'll always be there, taking care of her, as long as I'm alive. ALWAYS. But sometimes, for brief moments when it is all piling up, I suddenly feel like I'm recessing into a long black tunnel with no air and it reeks of futility.
Sometimes it feels like I can't take it anymore. I should be Mother Theresa. I should be all accepting of everything and everyone and just be full of joy at all the ups and downs of motherhood. But, sometimes I'm just spent. Fried. Done. I want off the ride. I feel sick. I wanna go home, but home is covered in poop and I'm tired of wiping it up. And, I'm clear through an entire bottle of carpet cleaner. I long for someone to step in and be the supermom, and save the day because I seriously suck at it. But the supermom is me. There is no one else.
If someone had a magic cure, I wouldn't be like those parents that are like "Oh, no, if there were a magic cure I wouldn't give it to my child... it would change who they are, and I love them how they are." Ok, am I the only bad mom out here who is like: "Dude, magic pill to make CB typical? No hesitation. Sign me UP! NOW!!!" Oh, the disability community will LOVE me now! Let the hate mail begin...
You know, when the sun rises tomorrow, I'll hit the ground running with a great perspective. It's just that right now? I need a moment to say this seriously blows. Big time chunks. And I'm drained. I'm on disability burn-out. I'm on poop-patrol burn out. I'm fried. Ah, that feels much better. Sometimes you just gotta vent and move on.