Poop

     Last night, at Ben's baseball game, a mom asked me how old Mary was. This is a topic that has been brought up among the SMS parents I know in chat rooms. Do we tell the real age of our child, or adjust it according to their developmental level? There are arguments for both options, but I've always taken the middle ground - real age with the caveat "but she's disabled,  so she acts much younger." This is completely vain - I don't want the other playground mommies thinking that I am a bad mother because my girl won't play with other kids, or get out of their way when she takes 2 or 3 minutes to inch down the slides. Fortunately, in my small town, enough other parents know Mary, so I don't have to explain too often.
    
     Mary has come so far developmentally that I just gave her age to the mom, with no explanation. And I felt pretty good about it, until Mary's diaper suddenly soaked through. I can imagine that the other mother thought that it was strange that I was changing a four-year-old's diaper on the edges of the ballfield. Yeah, that's how I roll - I changed her right on our blanket, out in the open. We were on the end of the row of spectators, so we weren't putting on a show or anything.


     Then she pooped.


     Mary wears the largest size of regular diapers. We haven't moved up to special-order sizes yet, but it's getting to be that time. When she poops, it is Defcon 1, or 5, whichever one is the most serious. Her diaper must be changed immediately, or suddenly her motor skills will take a giant leap forward and she will remove the diaper and fling it around, contents splattering everywhere. On numerous occasions she has done this during her nap, and I've entered her room to find her white shag carpet, um, decorated. This is the same girl who feigns helplessness at all dressing tasks, the girl who has figured out very early in life that being pretty and cute will get adults to do things for you. When poop is involved, she manages to undress quickly, but if you ask her to try the potty, suddenly she doesn't know how.


     You'll be relieved to hear that I took her to the car for that diaper change, sparing the crowd from her mess. I wonder what the other mother was thinking. I know that I would have thought, "Jeez, why hasn't she trained that kid yet?" I'd like to say that raising Mary has made me less judgmental of other parents, but it hasn't. I saw a woman "walking" her dog while riding a golf cart last week, and I related the story to my sister, marveling at the woman's laziness. Emily (my sis) said that maybe the woman had MS, or another invisible disability, that forced her to do that. Hmm. Just like Mary. Yeesh, I'm a jerk.