Hope Floats

There are certain moments when you realize that, as a single, childless adult (aka Noncreator), you will never understand your friends who have given birth to offspring and for some reason decided to keep the kid around the house (Procreator). I recently had my moment:

The other day I met my college roommates, Stephanie and Nicole, for dinner. It's always fun to catch up with each other and swap stories, especially since each of us has taken a very different path in life. Steph teaches high school Spanish and is married with two uh-DOOR-able girls (Elizabeth, 4, and Catherine, 2). Nicole is a free spirit, has lived all over the globe, and is moving down to Austin, Texas to work as a nurse practitioner in a community clinic. Me? I still work at the same University we all attended lo those many years ago. My role is mostly confined to relaying hilarious stories of personal embarrassment. We all have our niche.

Even though we all are pretty content with our lives, there is definitely an occasional twinge of longing for what the others have: family, kids, freedom, spare time, ability to set thermostat at whatever temperature. Then Stephanie illuminated the greener side of her fence with this story:

You know, there are definitely some tough times with having the whole kids-marriage thing. Like, the other day? Elizabeth and Catherine were taking a bath before bedtime.

I step away for ONE minute ...

and the next thing I know Elizabeth shrieks, 'Eww! MOM! Sissy just pooed in the tub!'"

(I'll give that a minute to sink in.)

Stephanie then went on to describe the shocking scene: her two little girls, angelic with wet golden ringlets and baby blues, sitting in a bath of floating poop particles. So now comes a decision no mortal should ever face: do you take the kids out of the tub and clean them off on the bath mat, thus ruining said mat? Or do you save the mat and put them in the shower, thus resulting in additional bleaching and scrubbing responsibilities? Or do you pull the drain plug, leaving them to wait as the water slowly seeps out and the logs are beached on the tub floor? Or do you skim the poop off first, using some type of MacGyvered pool skimmer from a hairbrush and plastic baggie? And which kid do you take out first? Because you know the other one is going to bring it up later in therapy.

I was so horrified by this Sophie's Choice that I started internally debating whether I would go the shower or the skimming route (depends on consistency) and didn't even hear what Stephanie chose. Presumably she did something and her offspring are not still sitting, pruned, in a stew of their own excrement. Then Stephanie said this:

"And you know what was the worst part? I had just cleaned the bathroom."

.....

(That? That right there? That was the moment.)

.....

THAT was the worst part? Given everything you endured in this crime scene, what bugs you the most is the TIMING ? Sure, everything would have been AOK if sweet, sweet Catherine had just waited until the night before Bathtub Scrubbing Day to drop a deuce.

This is the difference between Procreators and Noncreators. Yes, we both agree that poop bobbing around a vessel of cleanliness is disgusting. But Procreators accept their fate. All they ask is that those who dealt it be a bit more courteous with the time frame. Noncreators? Pretty sure that our advice to Stephanie would be to see if she could return those kids because clearly there is a defect. I mean, that type of operating error would definitely be covered by the warranty.

I've performed an unscientific survey of friends and coworkers and all have validated this difference. Noncreators responded with shock and horror, almost throwing up in their mouths. Procreators often responded with disgust as well, but it was a disgust they recognized and were comfortable with. In fact, everytime I get to the poop, a look flashes across the Procreators eyes. I can only assume this means that they are remembering some horror from their parenting past that also dealt with poop and bathtubs. Which they kindly keep to themselves, since us Noncreators don't have the stomach for it. We're too soft.

So, in this time of Christmas, as I stick greeting card after greeting card to my fridge, beaming families donning reindeer antlers, posing in front of twinkling trees, I remind myself of the true freedom of being a Family of One: the only turds I have to clean out of my tub are mine.

And, in tribute to that freedom, tonight I made cinnamon applesauce ornaments and fashioned one as a symbol.

Mmmm... smell that? Smells like freedom. Sweet, sweet, poop-for-one freedom.