Today, Ema, the three-year-old I take care of, pooped her pants. We were in the middle of a rousing game of Hide and Seek and I guess she was so committed to staying hidden that she wouldn't give up her spot, even to go to the bathroom. She told me where she was going to hide before I even started counting! It's not that serious!
As soon as I found her, she announced, "J'ai fait caca." I was hoping I had just misunderstood her or that she had incorrectly used the past tense. "Déjà?" I asked. "Oui." Upon further investigation, it was as I had feared. I big old load in her underpants. At least it was one solid mass and I could pop it right into the toilet. Unfortunately, I had to cross the hall to get from the salle de bain to the WC (curse you Europe and your separate rooms for everything!) and in trying to transfer this monstrous turd that would put most grown men to shame from culottes to toilette without soiling les mains, it plopped onto the floor. Awesome. Still warm!
To make things worse, I've got a half naked child with poop on her butt running around looking for baby wipes, which are in the shower room in parents' bedroom, which is locked. Thankfully, the key was still in the door and we got in and out real quick but there was a moment where I was legitimately afraid we were about to walk in on some crazy stuff in there. Why else would you lock your bedroom door in the middle of the day?
Why do kids hate baths? Rather than go through a million wet wipes, don't you think it would be easier to just hop in the tub real fast? But Ema, always wanting to do everything toute seule refused. Fine. Just get the poop off your butt. And then it was a battle to get her to wash her hands. You were just handling poop!!! I saw you! Yeah, it was dégoûtant and that's why you need to wash your hands.
It was in this moment that I remembered that I have a Master's degree in education from Johns Hopkins University. This time last year, I was teaching AP Psychology. Today, I am handling feces.
My, how my life has changed.
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