No, not being pooped or peed on.
Not being vomited on or have snot wiped on you.
Those even uglier days.
The days of rectal prolapse and laxatives.
Explaining to your mother, your friends, and your blog readers, what exactly that means.
*I am not explaining it here, beware if you google it.*
Days when you feel like your child's constipation issues are all your fault.
The days when your pediatrician asks you, "why are you crying?" and you say, "because this isn't right." She then tells you, "life isn't perfect," and I realize that I wish it was.
If only you would prepare meals higher in fiber.
If only the kids would eat them.
I love trying to disguise the awful smelling medication in their foods and drink.
Only to have them refuse it completely.
Oh it's a viscious cycle all right.
Now we get to wait around the house and make sure she poops twice a day with the consistency of a thick milkshake.
I get to judge daily if 3tsp of laxative is too much, too little, or just right.
I feel like Goldilocks.
Oh yes. I love these glamorous days.