There have been several moments since I brought children into this world when I literally took a step back and asked myself, “How the hell did I create that?”
Like the time my 2 year old son ate his own fecal matter in front of his father and I in such a nonchalant manner that would make even the strongest of stomachs turn. This one event made me question everything surrounding my ability to be a good mother. How can I be nice to someone who eats their own shit? It’s disgusting. Unnatural. Repulsive. WHO DOES THAT?!?!
Surprisingly, the most disturbing part of the whole ordeal wasn’t the actual “eating of the poop”, but rather the expression on his face afterwards. It was a very indifferent, “Eh, take it or leave it” kind of response that would haunt even the best of mothers. It was beyond unnerving to me that someone who appears to be so sweet and innocent was capable of such a beastly act.
I couldn’t even look at him for at least an hour afterwards and quite honestly haven’t been able to look at him in the same way since.
Maybe it’s my fault. It probably is. I never told him not to eat shit.