I Can Do Anything

I have the privilege of knowing that I can do ANYTHING. I gained this sense of empowerment after delivering four babies into this world -two with pain medication, and two without so much as a Tylenol. Let me tell you- though each experience was exhilarating, beautiful, and a moment I occasionally wish I could relive- having a human being exit your body through an ever tiny space is excruciating. Even if you have an epidural, the recovery after is enough to make you take pause and have some not-so-favorable thoughts about Eve eating that fruit. I've never had a C section, but from what I hear from friends, it too is a massively painful recovery. Why do I bring all this up? Because I have to remind myself from time to time that if I can go through all that pregnancies and deliveries have to offer, I can do anything. Anything. Including changing a massively explosive poopy diaper on a tiny changing table in a gross public restroom. Without vomiting.

I have many poop stories of which I gracefully will spare you. Let's just say one of the worst ones was dished up by my beautiful girl Madeline at 9 months old on vacation, and she can now legitimately say, "That tastes worse than poop!" Or, "My hair looks better with poop in it!" My most recent experience was with my darling girl Lydia. Bill and I were able to get out for a rare date night, even if it was with our youngest alongside us. She is still nursing and not yet old enough for overnights at Grandma and Pap pap's. We were at a local restaurant having a great time talking about future vacation plans when I smelled something that didn't exactly remind me of the yummy enchiladas I had just ordered.

I whisked Lydia away to the bathroom, locked myself in the handicapped stall with the changing table, and then (not exagerrating in the least) swallowed back vomit. The smell combination of the restroom and her diaper was just about more than I could handle. I took her clothes off, and realized a new entire outfit was going to be necessary. As well as washing my arms up to the elbows. After going through every baby wipe I had, I placed the diaper out of her kicking reach. Good idea, I thought. Until it rolled. Onto the only spare outfit I had for her. It was at this point, with a naked baby, my messy arms, and no clothes for my child, I had to recite to myself: " You've given birth. Four times. You can do anything. Including this." Because all I wanted to do was to relax at the table with my love, eating enchiladas and talking about anything other than poop. So I looked into the sweet eyes admiring me, clueless to the havoc she was causing, and inspected the clothes. Thankfully her shirt was spared of the poop, and I so I dressed her without pants. I did my best to clean up the mess behind me, washing each arm one handedly (still not sure how I accomplished that while holding a baby) and then joined Bill for the rest of the dinner- knowing that yes, once again- I can do anything.