(He is ninety-eight percent potty-trained. However, he holds his poop until he is in a pull-up at bedtime. But this isn't about potty-training.)
I was doing what needed to be done, and he kept saying, "I pooped in my pull-up."
"I know, Bubby. It's okay. I love you."
"I pooped, Mommy."
"I know. Let's try to go in the potty next time."
"Maybe tomorrow. I pooped, Mommy."
"I know. It's okay. I love you."
And in that stinky, messy moment I still felt overwhelming love for my three year old. Yes, I wish he would get over his fear of pooping on the toilet. Yes, I am so over this phase of cleaning up the mess. But I love him more than I hate the mess.
In that moment, God whispered to me the same thing.
I love you more than I hate your mess.