October 10, 2013

On learning to love

I really have no pictures to go with today's post. I thought about it but I didn't want to make you puke if you were drinking your morning coffee or something. And for the record I didn't even take any. You see, yesterday when I went in to get Levi from his nap I knew something was up because he was super duper crying. And I walked in to POOP FEST 2013. Actually it was the worst poop disaster (or maybe any bodily function disaster) I have ever experienced with any of my kids times ten.

Horrible.

I was dumb and didn't put pants on Levi before I put his sleep-sack on and, beings he's a toddler, that gave him instant access to his diaper. When I walked in his diaper was off and there was a big mushy present everywhere.

And I didn't notice it until I had been snuggling with him for a few minutes. Yessss.






Thank the heavens nothing got on my dress. But the heavens directed me to all the other places it was: the crib, the floor, and from Levi's waist down. It looked like he was wearing poop leggings. And poop socks. (If Max could read he would love this post because I say the word "poop" a million times. I'll stop that now.)

My usual reaction would go something like this (no offense meant, I'm working on overcoming my sailor talk):

"What. the. h*ll happened in here?! How did you effing get that all over the place?! Ugh.........Yell Yell Yell, Scream, Yell..........Now look what I have to do! Are you serious?! Having kids effing sucks!"

You get the point. But believe it or not I didn't get mad, once. I didn't yell or scream or even want to for that matter. I just calmly laid him down, cleaned him off, gave a bath, and threw his entire room in the washing machine. That was the GRACE of GOD, people. And not just the grace of God, but God speaking to my heart telling me, above all,

to Love.

You see, Levi was balling. He was so distraught and yelling "yucky yucky yucky yucky" that all I could do was feel so bad for this little guy. So what if he took off his diaper. (I mean, not really "so what" but he is a toddler.....) He was sad and helpless and I was the only one in the entire house, in his entire world at that moment, that could help him. I stroked his face and cleaned out the pack of baby wipes and told him that everything was going to be just fine. I kissed his tears away and gently scrubbed him in the tub and he just clung to me after and wouldn't let go - seriously some of the best snuggles I've had.

But I realized that sometimes a lot of times love isn't about the snuggles or the kisses or the warm and fuzzies. Love is cleaning up poop - and not just doing it reluctantly or even with acceptance, but doing it with a choice to have one's heart directed at the other. Levi knew his mama was there for him, despite how messy love looked. And I learned that sometimes the warm and fuzzy love feelings come after and because of doing the hard stuff.

In the end I'm still not excited about the disaster that ensued but I am grateful for the lesson on love. Because the more we love, truly love, the happy and more fulfilled we will be.














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