She pooped!

I have mentioned before that I stumbled into motherhood with no idea that so many bodily functions (wait, make that other people's) bodily functions were involved in the job. There's just no such thing as TMI when you are a mom. Kids show up at all hours of the day and night with vomit, snot, and poop spewing from both ends and mom has to clean it up. Oh, and pretend that she doesn't mind. Personally I am a sympathetic puker, and I make no bones about the fact that cleaning up vomit disgusts me. It's not the visual aspect of the job, it's the fact that I don't do well with smells. The worst part of my veterinary school education? Necropsy! I spent a month with Vick's salve under my nose trying not to lose my lunch on some animal carcass. I didn't find pathology nearly as exciting as my instructor, who (thanks to my husband who had to share a locker room with him) I now know was going "commando" under those white coveralls. Yep, nothing between him and us ladies but some thin white cotton. I kinda wish I had stood further away. We did have an incredibly eager resident who seemed to take great joy in anything dead. Once he leaned over my shoulder and exclaimed, "Check out this intestinal ballooning!" The pathology professor walked over, looked briefly at the area in question, and without cracking a smile replied, "Yes, doctor. We call that a fart." Dr. Reid didn't find that nearly as funny as the rest of us did.
Oddly enough, the most difficult part of adjusting to school has involved the digestive tract of my children. At the end of last year, we actually took the smaller of the twins to her pediatrician because she was pale, tired, and just didn't seem to be thriving. After copious amounts of drama, bloodwork, and x-rays, we received the monumental diagnosis of: constipation. Yep, turns out she was full of poop and it was making her sick. Apparently my child was so terrified of being left alone in the restroom, she rushed to the point that she didn't take time to take care of business. A few doses of Miralax and the problem took care of itself to the point that for awhile we were dealing with the other extreme. Sometimes you just can't win.
Last night my firstborn reported that she had a bellyache. A further conversation revealed that she hadn't pooped since school started. On Tuesday. After a valiant effort before bed, she still hadn't gotten any relief by this morning. She sat on the toilet in my bathroom for four forevers, and then it was time to make a decision. Only a mother gets this one: Do you send a "sick" kid to school, knowing there is a very good possibility that they are going to call you in 20 minutes to come get her? At our house this morning, the answer was "yes." So I went ahead with getting her ready for school, all the while thinking "if they call me, I'm so telling them to send her to the bathroom and then waiting an hour before I go get her!"
Fortunately for her (and me) she took care of her little issue at school. I know this because during a conversation with her teacher today she told me the following story. After the second time my child complained that her belly hurt, Ms. Purvis sent her to the restroom. Because she had been gone for quite awhile, her sister was dispatched to check on her. After a few minutes, my child runs back to her classroom, throws open the door, and announces with great drama and several hand gestures, "Don't worry, Ms. Purvis! It's okay! She got a little bit of it out!" "She did? Oh, well thank you for letting me know." Ms. Purvis admitted that it took everything she had to keep it under control.
Awesome. Poor baby, I thought. She's going to be mortified that her sister told the class she pooped. Wrong! About that time, the sick child shows up, throws the door open again, and yells, "Ms. Purivs, it's okay! I DID IT! I feel better now." Yep. Nothing like sharing your good news with the class.
Her dad was relieved to hear that everything was back to normal, as he and I had already decided that if she didn't go at school we were spiking her drink with Miralax. Hey, becoming a parent leads to all sorts of conversations you never envisioned yourself having with that guy you married.
For those of you who aren't parents yet, just keep this story in mind. One day you, too, may be lucky enough to have the opportunity to send the love of your life a text that says, "SHE POOPED!" and get one back that says, "Hooray!" What can I say? It's a glamourous life we lead.