Hand Full of Poop

It’s just me and Asher hanging out. Nelson and Beth are at the grocery and as far as I’m concerned they can take their good sweet time…because I’m savoring these moments—big time!

This morning Beth and Asher came to church. We then offered to keep him during Sunday School so that she could go home and get a nap. It was too easy! She jumped on that like…well, fill in the quickest analogy you can think of.

It was fun showing him off in Sunday School. Nelson kept identifying Asher as his new toy. Pepa! He was such a good baby. Everyone marveled at his sweet nature and his red hair.

Last night the funniest thing happened. I’ve been on poopy diaper patrol lately. Typically, I don’t mind, but this one was one for the books. I lade Asher on the floor on top of a receiving blanket and had successfully cleaned his little bottom. As I was getting ready to put on the new diaper he passed some gas. I sped up, but before I could get the new one completely under and my hand out of the way he pooped on me, on the banket and even into the new diaper. Beth was cracking up. Then as I turned him to the side to wipe up the mess a little he proceeded to pee the straightest little stream all over the floor. This just about put Beth into spasms she was laughing so hard. Nelson was sitting on his bed asking for a camera. Asher was doing the gassy grin and I still had a hand full of baby poopy. It was comical. No sooner had we cleaned up the mess but Beth was on the phone sharing the story and the laughter with her sister.

I prefer today’s peaceful cuddle time, but will confess last night’s laughter was pretty special too.

I was reading someone’s entry earlier and it caused quite a time of reflection for me. She was describing a trip to the ER with her 17yr old son, and how though in the process of life of letting go he grabbed her arm and asked her not to leave. I related so well to that this week.

Beth came into my room at 3:15 Monday morning. I awoke before she walked in when I heard her make her way to the bathroom. As she entered my room I was quick to ask, “Contractions?” She thought so. We called the hospital and was put through to her doctor. He instructed us to come in.

It was hard to watch my baby in so much pain. Her labor was very intense and in her back. Thank God for the epidural. That only left 2 hours of pushing. My job was to count and help her with that pushing. There were times when she snapped, but in her eyes I knew she wanted me there. I don’t know what words to use to describe the emotion as I witnessed Asher emerging. Then I got to cut the cord. He was so perfect. I treasure the entire experience.

Later, after moving to a quieter room, Beth was holding Asher and looking at him with such love. I smiled and said, “You’re a mom.” She was still trying to wrap her brain around it. It was just too amazing. “He’s yours forever.” That’s some pretty powerful stuff.

It reminded me of when she was in eighth grade. I think it was in January, maybe February. She had gone sledding with a friend. I was called at work that she had fallen off the sled and broken her arm—come home quick! That wasn’t hard since the hill was out front of our agency and we lived just at the bottom of the hill.

As I dashed home, I remember praying, “Please God let it be her right arm.” Strange prayer. Like God was going to say, “Oops, I broke the wrong arm…better fix that.” Reflecting on that moment, I’m glad hears our intent, especially when our words make no sense. I just desperately wanted God to be taking care of my baby.

Well, it was her right arm, and though that left her able to write, there were still things she couldn’t do: like wash her hair. Now, perhaps you can remember being 13 or 14, or you remember when your kids were. It’s the beginning of independence and the last thing you want to do is admit to your mom you can’t do something, or worse that you need her (gasp and horror).

I tried really hard not to let on how much I really treasured being needed again. I knew that days were coming when little Miss Independent was going to spread her wings and fly. I wanted it and dreaded it both at the same time. The time on Monday reminded me of hair washing. She may never need me in the same way again, but she will always need me. And that’s worth a hand full of poop any day!

Asher is asleep on my shoulder right now, making cooing little dream sounds while he sleeps. I just have to let you know—I feel so blessed.