In April, 2010, when Andrew was 2 1/2, a tumor was discovered behind his eye. The tumor was removed, but it was found to be an aggressive cancer. He endured seven months of chemo and six weeks radiation. In December of 2010, the day after his last treatment, he was rushed to the ER with an almost fatal bacterial infection. He survived.

He is now seven-years-old!! I don't visit here much, because during the ordeal, this is where I dumped everything--my rage, my fear, my sadness, my ugly, my hope, my everything. But I want all of you who supported and prayed for us to hear his updates. You helped me survive, and I am deeply thankful. Every once in awhile, I will check in to let you know how he's doing. Please continue to pray that cancer will never return to his body. Thank you.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Oh %&@!!!

Lately, my life has revolved around, well...poop.   This post is not for the faint of heart or easily disgusted, I will warn you right now.  This is not a post which would be benefited by the use of photography.

Last night, just as I was envisioning the end of the bedtime routine tunnel, I sat down in Andrew's rocking chair, pulled him up on my lap, and..."There's poop there," he said, pointing. 

And yes, yes there was. Poop. There. And apparently EVERYWHERE.  Hiding under a piece of cardboard there was poop; dried, crusted poop stuck all over the arm of the rocking chair.  I got out my Clorox and scrubbed.  Then I followed Andrew around his room as he pointed out the poop trail.  "Here, Mommy," he said, pointing to his crib railings.  Wipe, scrub, wipe, scrub.  "And here," pointing to his mattress.  I removed the blankies, toys, random diapers, and finally the sheets and threw them in the laundry. I remade his bed.   "Over here," he says pointing to the carpet. Scrub, scrub, scrub.  "Here Mommy" he says, pointing to the cushion I was JUST SITTING ON.  Change MY pants. Scrub, scrub, scrub. SIGH.

I sat back down in the rocking chair, pulled Andrew up on my lap, and got ready to read Curious George and the Hot Air Balloon for the 50th time, and..."There's poop there." "WHAT??!" I said.  "There's poop there," he casually repeated, pointing to the crusted brown stuff stuck on the first page, right next to Daddy's dedication to Aaron from three years ago.  SCRUB WIPE SCRUB. Disgusting.

So I finish reading to him, kiss him goodnight, and leave the room with a very firm and frusrated, "YOU HAD BETTER KEEP YOUR PANTS ON."   I leave the room and close the door.  A half an hour later, I still heard rumbling around so I went in to investigate (with fear and trembling). Sitting on his train table, he was half-naked, NO PANTS, with clean diaper next to him.  No sign of poop, at least for now.  I put his pants back on, and once again leave the room with a warning, equally firm and even more frustrated, "KEEP YOUR PANTS ON!!!"  No more episodes for the evening as I think he finally fell asleep.

This was just the end of my very poopy day.

Earlier, he had taken off his diaper and made his way out the doggie door.  As I walked in the playroom, I saw an empty diaper on the floor and a poopy butt making its way back into the house.  Then he says, "I pooped in the grass, Mama."  And yes, yes he did.  And on the sidewalk next to the grass.  I am becoming paranoid about hidden poop in my house.

Time to potty train.  So far, he has yet to poop in the potty. I need to find a way to keep his pants on until that happens.  Do they make chastity belts for toddlers? SIGH.


  1. Both my older two were diaper strippers. So messy! I have to say, though, our books made it through unscathed. Thank. God. (And thank God for Lysol!)

  2. Eeeeew. Thankfully he told you where it all was (hopefully)...


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