transformation

I'm a fan of Robert Fulghum, and I remember reading in one of his books that a sign that you are officially an adult is when you have to complete gross, undesirable chores like cleaning out the drain of the kitchen sink or scrubbing the toilet. You are a grown up when you can do these things without wincing.

Being a mom requires far worse jobs than these, and I'm not just talking about diapers, although those definitely qualify. I can think of 2 occasions in these last 9 months when I was aware that I was doing something that I wouldn't have done in the B.C. (before Cole) days.

First was the flu in December. I was more aggressive seeking medical attention for Cole than I had ever been in my life. I not only took his rectal temp, I held him down while the nurses searched for a vein under his beautiful baby blubber, convinced that my firm touch would be more gentle than that of the nurse. I breastfed him in the ER with absolutely no regard for anyone else being in the room. He needed me and no one would stop me from helping him in any way that I could.

Second was a recent diaper that cleared the ladies' bathroom at IKEA. We were nearing the check out when Tony told me he thought Cole needed a diaper change. As I pushed him in his stroller towards the bathroom I smelled this horrible sulfurous odor. I picked him up and he began to wail. His diaper had leaked and poop had stained the front and back of his outfit. I opened his diaper to find neon poop spilling out of the diaper and entrenched in every crevice. Another mom was waiting her turn for the changing table, but after one look at Cole she left to find another restroom. It took over a dozen wipes and 2 diapers, but I cleaned him up as quickly as I could. Then, I scooped him up in my arms to comfort him. In the process, I knowingly marked my own shirt with the same smelly poop that was still on his clothing, but I couldn't have cared less. It was the mark of motherhood.