I am a Christian.

I’m not a very good one, but I’ve got the faith part down (for the most part), and I believe that Jesus Christ is my Saviour.

So while I tend to miss church a little way too much, I have to be there on Easter. That’s a big one.

As I sat there during the service (my husband won’t attend, but that’s a whole ‘nother blog), one of the teenagers who works in the nursery comes looking for me. Finding me, she says the words I dread most in this world.

“Umm, Neve just pooped on herself.”

(Note: Please give mad props that I didn’t drop the f-bomb, s-word, or even a d without a g.)

(Another note: I seriously just said “mad props.” Wow.)

I head back to the nursery like I’m walking the Green Mile. I was expecting a pair of Dora panties with a turd floating in them. I was sooo wrong.

Neve had decided she was going for broke (perhaps since it’s been so long since she’s done this?). The child had a full-on monster bowl movement while standing directly in front of the toilet. Didn’t even pinch one off and then hop on. Then, she stuck the heel of her brand new white satin (of freakin’ course) shoe in the poop. At this point, she started dragging the heel across the floor. But she didn’t stop there.

No, when my little angel had finished with the linoleum, she went out into the actual nursery. With the baby blue CARPET. It looked like the most horrifying skid mark ever. It looked like what (I only imagine) a hardcore gang bang porn star’s thong looks like after a 12-hour workday. Nasty.

So, I spent a half an hour on Easter scrubbing my kid’s crap out of floors. Then I called my mother to come get her (because my ass was. DONE).

As I scrubbed under the watchful eye of my fellow churchgoers, I thought, “Well, if they weren’t judging me before, they sure as hell are now!”