Good news. I discovered something new about myself. Poop makes me gag.

I’m OK with cat poop and I’ve never really experienced baby poop—although, I imagine that mothers have some built-in mechanism to prevent them from vomiting all over their off-spring—but my mother’s poop makes me gag.

In the last month or so, I’ve dealt with my mom pooping her pants on more than one occasion. It’s messy. Poop just gets everywhere. It smells. Seeing it caked on her underwear makes me want to run. Gag. Swallow. I hate it. Of course, I can’t. I try to help her get clean, passing along wet paper towels. Unrolling more toilet paper. She hands me back her dirty underwear and used paper towels. Gag. Swallow. She needs more paper towels. Gag. How did poop get on the wall? Gag. Swallow. She’s mostly cleaned up. I hope it didn’t get on your sleeve. That’ll have to do until we get home or I get you diapers or something. Gag. Good. You don’t smell too bad.

Oh, Shit. My car seat smells like poop.

FACT. Human poop is really hard to clean up once it soaks through.

My mom has another nasty poop-related habit. She insists on wiping with a bath towel when she’s home. This would be fine if she could flush it. Instead, she hangs the poop covered towel back on the towel rank. Gag. Swallow. I’ve tried to show her how to use toilet paper. She’s not that into it. Gag. Swallow. When she hangs her poop covered towel back on the rack, I have to wait until she’s finished to toss it in the wash. My dad does the same. Coming in after to throw the towel away or in the wash. Gag. Gag. Gag. I remember the first time I witnessed the towel in action. My dad and I were sitting on the bed talking about it. He looked tragically defeated.

Like a soldier being told that they can’t come home.

Flickr pic by Scott MacLeod Liddle