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Parenting is fun. Every day there's something new to laugh at, or cry over. It comes in waves, some days in ripples. Either way, it's a never-ending rollercoaster of emotions, dirty laundry, and sticky kitchen floors.
To combat some of these daily nuances, I sometimes enlist the help of my toddler. She's pretty advanced for her age, and often asks me if she can help when she sees me doing chores. While her efforts are rarely helpful, I usually let her try her hand at something new to help her grow and nurture her caring nature.
I've struggled with eczema my entire life. Since becoming an adult, I've been able to control it much better, but it's always there in some form on some part of my body. Most recently, I've been babying a patch on the back of my leg, just above my Achilles tendon.
After watching me rub moisturizer onto the offending patch, my sweet little toddler looked at me and said "Mommy, can I help?" My first instinct was to decline her invitation for fear of finding lotion smeared in places I'd rather not clean. But, the mommy side of me conceded and let her dip her curious finger into the tub of moisturizer. In a fit of excitement, my toddler scooped out way too much moisturizer and began to smear it across my already lotioned-up leg.
Just as I was about to head for a towel to clean her up, I decided to use this opportunity to my advantage. I wiggled my toes in her face and said, "Mommy's feet hurt. If you put the lotion on my feet, they'll feel much better." My toddler's grin nearly reached her ears as she began covering my feet and calves in the slick lotion that reached almost up to her elbows.
After a few minutes of applying the moisturizer, though, she got bored, as toddlers do. Since we were both covered in copious amounts of lotion, I hopped up and headed to the nearest powder room to grab a hand town to clean us both up.
And that's when I saw it.
At the base of the toilet, smeared across the white tile floor, was a telling brown stain. It wasn't just a poop stain. It was a poop stain that had been drawn in with a tiny finger nail. The stain was nearly dry and resembled some of the finger paint drawings that hung proudly on the wall in the toy room.
My stomach sank. My sweet, sweet potty-trained toddler must have had a problem in the bathroom. And that problem was now smeared across my legs and feet in a blend of dried poop and too-much lotion.
The next time I trick my toddler into massaging my feet, I'll be sure to make her wash her hands first. I encourage you to do the same.