Mother's Day

*Another one from the vaults*

They are going about it all wrong. 

 

The way to educate teens about sex and unwanted pregnancy isn't to throw statistics at them.  And it isn't to show them blown up images of std infected genitalia.  What's really that scary about herpes for example?  Every time I see a commercial for valtrex I feel a slight pang of envy.  Everyone on those commercials is incredibly beautiful, athletic, and seemingly extremely happy.  After they smiling confess "I have herpes..." they are then embraced by their super model other half who says "but I don't."  Then they engage in some soft porn and skip along the beach enjoying the sunset.

People with herpes even have their very own social clubs and singles meets.  I think it probably cuts down on the anxiety of dating when right off the bat you know that everyone in the room also has festering genital sores. 

 

They also need to quit showing images of angelic sleeping babies wrapped in soft blankets on bill boards advertising crisis pregnancy centers.  This is not scary.  Babies are not intimidating.  A sleeping pink, soft, snuggly baby is false advertising.  What they really need on a bill board are stretch marks.  That would appeal to most teenagers immediately.  No more skimpy bikinis for you.  You can trade that perfectly flat tummy and adorable belly button ring for a saggy stomach that looks like it survived a mauling from a bear. 

 

But the most effective and as yet unused idea for keeping teens baby free would be to explain just how much poop is about to become a part of your life.  I don't think anyone is ever prepared for just how intimately involved they are about to become with the excrement of another human being.  Gone are the days of gossiping about celebrities and world events with your friends.  Instead, the color, texture, and frequency of your child's bowel movements is an accepted topic of discussion with other mother's at the local park.

 

You will even retrieve a diaper from the garbage to show your mother or neighbor and generally say something like "this is what I was talking about.. does it look normal to you?"  And the bizarre thing is they are willing to take a look and offer an opinion.  There are even websites devoted to helping you determine whether or not your baby's poop is normal.  Clearly what they need to show on a bill board is a giant image of a messy diaper.  Preferably one after a grandparent decided the child needed to try raisins.  Do you know what happens to raisins in the digestive tract of a toddler?  They become grapes. 

 

The daily involvement in poop does not end with potty training unfortunately.  Your child will need "help" in the bathroom for awhile.  "Help" is a rather benign sounding word that falsely leads to images of offering smiling support and gentle words of encouragement: "good pooping honey!!  Who's mommy's good little pooper... you are!" 

 

Not quite. 

 

"Helping" is usually what happens after the child has attempted to deal with the hugely difficult task of wiping their own behind on their own.  My mother had serious control freak tendencies and my sister and I were not allowed to even attempt our own hygeine.  We had to sit patiently and wait for her to arrive and perform the entire task on her own.  Some might argue that this isn't teaching the child a necessary life skill.  But I think my mom was on to something.  Another friend once confessed that her mother was still wiping her behind for HER when she was ten years old.  If I could do it over I would probably have instilled that same rule in my kids.

 

For those of us who ignorantly demonstrated bottom wiping techniques to our youngsters in the sad hope they would catch on "helping" doesn't begin to describe it.  "Damage control" is a more appropriate term.  In our house the five year still needs the most help.  And it's usually not asked for until the mess is bordering on crisis level.  If he even actually makes it to the bathroom first... that's only about a 50/50 chance.  Generally "helping" in the bathroom here requires a complete change of clothes, half a roll of toilet paper, several wash cloths, a biohazard suit, and a full can of scrubbing bubbles.

 

The concept of hygiene seems to reside in a gene that is non existent in male children.  The pictures in potty training pamphlets generally show a smiling fresh faced youngster sitting politely on the potty, hands clasped in front, while their equally smiling mother helps to clean them.  I want to live in that world.  Because here, it involves a totally naked child spread eagled leaning over the tub, while I mutter bad words under my breath and assure them that yes, I still love them, even while I'm scrubbing away at caked on shit between their thighs with what, ten years ago, were my "good" wash cloths. 

 

After everyone's clothes are changed, hands are washed-including scraping clean the fingernails-I then have to wash the pile of laundry that has resulted from this daily dance with mother nature.  I used to pride myself on the fact that I used cloth diapers and wasn't contributing diapers to the landfills.  I've probably negated any positive environmental impact I had because sometimes I simply choose to throw out the fecal matter encrusted undies rather then scrub them clean.  When most people have company coming all they need to do is make sure the bathroom has clean towels and is stocked with toilet paper.  I have to make sure there are no pee stains on the shower curtain or poop smears on the wall by the toilet paper. 

 

This is the true reality of mother hood.  And all I want this year is to not have to be involved in, assist with, participate in, or even have knowledge of the bowel movements of any other human being.  It's all I ask.  Happy Mother's Day.