This is neither appropriate nor even remotely polite to post here.
But I want to share it, nonetheless.
Because this? Is my life.
I am not a drinker. Maybe, with my girlfriends, or with my husband on a special occasion, I might have a beer. But on this occasion, on this day, make mine a double. Please.
You see, I just came up from one of the most horrific duties of parenting an internationally adopted child.
Can you guess?
Have you been there?
I had to collect the poop sample.
Actually, the collecting wasn’t so bad, now that this particular (and unnamed) child is potty trained.
1. Insert “hat” into toilet.
2. Bribe child.
It was what had to happen after that. The #s 4-10 that were so bad. So awful. So ridiculously yucky, I repeated to myself. Over and over again.
If you’ve ever had to collect and then deposit such a sample into four insanely small containers, all half-filled with an unknown liquid, while trying to cover your mouth and nose with your shirt, with rubber covered hands, while trying to deftly manage a wooden tongue depressor carrying said ‘sample’, you know of which I speak.
If you’ve been there, then you and I? We are bonded. We are sisters.
But if you’ve never had to collect and deposit such a sample, I ask that you stop right now and count your lucky stars. And start preparing for the day you might have such duties thrust upon you.
Now that it’s over, and all samples are snugly and securely placed into their many, many layers of ziploc baggy, and I have showered and perfumed and thoroughly de-‘sampled’ myself, I am relieved, if not completely joyful that this job is over. But I just can’t seem to manage to go on with my day.
My head is buzzing with memories.
And a double, I imagine, would be just the ticket for some sweet relief.
But, like I said, I’m not really a drinker. So I’ll have to find the next best thing.
Except M&M’s aren’t sounding so good to me.
For some strange reason.