POOP

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If anyone asks me why I look sleepy today, I am going to just shake my head and give them the weary look of someone who has seen too much.

It was 3:30 in the morning when I heard unhappy snuffling on the side of the bed.

Aili. That girl just can’t spend the whole night in her bed.

I reached out to touch her and felt that her shirt was wet.

That girl also can’t stay dry the whole night.

In the dark, I took off her t-shirt and was about to pull her in to bed when the smell hit me.

“Aili, did you have an accident?”

“I had to poop,” replied a tiny, sad voice.

I took her to the bathroom to get her cleaned up. When I turned on the lights, it was like a horror movie. That child was covered from head to toe in feces.

“What happened, Aili??”

“I didn’t make it.”

No. “I didn’t make it” would have left a little mark or a turd on the floor. This…this…did she roll in it? Was this her attempt at a full-body mud mask? Horrifying.

I washed her up and put her in my bed.

I toyed with the idea of seeing what her bed looked like, but it was now 4 in the morning and I was exhausted.

Now it’s morning and I am afraid. Very afraid. I am armed with bleach, rags, and a strong stomach. There is something awful in that bed (and probably on those floors, that wall, etc…) If I don’t come out, it’s been nice knowing you all.

She can take a poop, but she can’t take my freedom!

 

(One last thing….Quick clarification from yesterday: Yes, my husband is fine. He was just observed for a short time and then released. We appreciate your concern.)

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