Poop in the Bathtub

Take my name, take my fame,
While you at it, take my shame,
Take my flaws, take my blame.
Feel my dirt, conceal my hurt,
See my bruise,
I'm guessin' you would walk in my shoes.

--Mase, "Jesus Walks (Remix)"

S-Boogie reminds us frequently of what she is not supposed to do. "No hitting." "No play the butter." "No play with cord." (Usually accompanied by "Mommy Daddy cry." We're glad she remembers that one.) "No poop in the tub." She reminded me of this last one last night, just minutes before pooping in the tub. I watched in horror as she leaned forward, strained a bit, and released a little brown blob into the water. "No, Boogie!" I yelled. "Not in the tub!" In a panic I pulled all her toys out before they could be contaminated, then pulled out a distraught two-and-a-half-year-old while Foxy J put the potty seat on the toilet. I set S-Boog down on the potty and groaned. "Great."

Then S-Boogie looked at me with wide eyes about to tear up, her bottom lip trembling, and said in a pitiful voice full of self-contempt, "No poop in the tub."



I had assumed that her constant repetition of our remonstrances was just evidence of her interest in language, and of her amusement at our reactions to her mischievous quirks. I assumed that she thought of these run-ins with parental law nothing more than a joke. I realized last night, though, that when she repeats the rules she's reminding herself of what she must avoid doing in order to avoid displeasing Daddy and Mommy. Last night she came up against something she'll learn over and over: Even when I know all the rules I can't follow them all. And therefore I am bad.

I hugged S-Boogie last night and told her over and over again that I love her even when she poops in the tub. I felt horrible for making her believe otherwise, even for a moment.

If it seems like I'm making a bigger deal out of this than I need to, it's because I probably am. That, really, is the core of the problem. I manage to communicate to my daughter (despite my intent) that nothing short of perfection is acceptable because I accept nothing short of perfection from myself. I remember being a few years older than S-Boogie and having a similar accident in the tub. I'm sure my dad reacted no worse than I did last night--frustrated at the mess he had to clean up--but I distinctly recall feeling that I was a horrible, awful, no-good person and that he hated me for it.

It kills me to think S-Boogie might spend her life going through the hell of never living up to her own impossible expectations, but it's not as simple as recognizing that fact and changing it. Obsessive perfection is so ingrained in me that I'm not sure I can rid my own conscious thoughts of it, much less the messages I unconsciously send to my children. I think it goes without saying that the answer is not to simply buck up and start being perfect. (And yet now I've said it.) So I can't be perfect and I can't stop expecting myself to be perfect and hating myself for not being perfect and I will likely teach my children to do the same.

Simply put, I have damned myself and my children to hell, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.



A while back, my brother emailed me an article written by a guy who believes there is no God. He distinguishes himself from atheists, who simply do not believe in God, and takes a more proactive stance. He believes that God is an excuse for people to be lazy:

Believing there's no God means I can't really be forgiven except by kindness and faulty memories. That's good; it makes me want to be more thoughtful. I have to try to treat people right the first time around.

The guy makes quite the convincing argument. People do often use belief in God and thus the possibility of repentance as an excuse to be jerks and do stupid things. Repentance should not be relied on when prevention is possible.

But what about the times when I simply can't avoid doing things that hurt myself or other people? When I'm a toddler with little-to-no bladder control who knows I'm not supposed to poop in the bathtub but I do anyway? Yes, I can hope to be forgiven by the kindness and faulty memories of others, but how do I forgive myself?

I believe in God because it's the only way I stay sane. No, I don't know he exists, but I have faith based in hope, hope that there is someone who can take my shame, take my flaws, take my blame, feel my dirt, conceal my hurt. You might argue that by removing God from the equation I would take away the rules and hence the guilt caused by breaking them, making his mercy unnecessary. Maybe so, but I can't so easily rid myself of my perfection complex, let alone of my God.

And no, I won't use hope for repentance as an excuse to stop trying. I won't watch passively as my daughter cries because I taught her that she's bad for doing something she can't help, trusting that Jesus will make it all better. I'll keep apologizing to her, reminding her that I love her, doing my best to make it better myself. Then, when I've done all I can and it's not enough, I'll ask God to forgive me and hope I can too.