“My stomach hurts.”

The complaint was a recurring one, uttered by my five year old for the past year. We’d been to the pediatrician, endured several rounds of blood work and a three month wait to see a specialist.

At our appointment, the doctor informed me that he wanted to perform some stool tests. I returned home with a document that highlighted the need for a frozen sample, in addition to one that was required to be delivered to the lab within 60 minutes of collection.

Time sensitive poop. Fabulous.

Apparently, there is a proper way to retrieve a specimen. The first step, according to the detailed instructions, was to line the toilet with plastic wrap.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Here’s a fun fact about me. I detest plastic wrap. I can never rip it off the roll without the piece adhering to itself, forcing me to angrily wad it into a ball and start over. I, in fact, do not even allow it in the house. I shoved all four kiddos in the car to quickly purchase a supply, in case the five year old suddenly felt the urge to go.

I arrived back home, armed with my clinging antagonist, and the waiting began. Every time my daughter rounded the corner, I pounced.

“Do you have to poop?”

“No!” she replied, each time a little more exasperated than before.

Day turned into night and the sun rose again. My five year old had now taken to hiding on the floor of the house where I was not.  Finally, I heard her yell, from two flights down, “Mom, I have to poop.”

It’s go time!

I leapt down the steps, three at a time, breathlessly shouting “just keep holding it!” I grabbed the box of wrap and pulled out a generous supply, which, you guessed it, clung to itself. I vowed to burn this roll of ridiculousness as soon as the exercise was complete. I managed to get the plastic applied, the collection bowl in place and balanced the five year old precariously on top.

By now, an audience of siblings were gathered around the door to observe the entertainment.

You could hear a pin drop as we all waited for the magic to happen.

My five year old let out a tiny toot and giggled.

“Sorry, don’t have to poop, but I do have to pee.”

The instructions specifically cautioned that urine in the container would contaminate the sample. I really hoped these directions weren’t crafted by a prankster lab intern who thought it would be funny to add absurd steps, just to mess with mamas everywhere.

“Don’t pee in the bowl. Wait!”

I scrambled to remove the insert and the plastic wrap, which of course, clung magnificently, while she danced in urgency beside me.

The wait continued, but later that same day, the spirit moved, and a successful specimen was collected. 60 minutes on the clock.

I frantically stuck one sample directly into the freezer and a second one, on ice, into the only cooling container I could find, a kiddo’s lunch box. I shooed all the children into the car, amid grossed out protests that they would never eat from that lunch box again. I desperately promised to buy each of them a new one, if they’d hurry and buckle.

Of course she had to poop during rush hour. Traffic was bumper to bumper and the stopwatch was ticking down. There was no way I was going through the collection process again, so I navigated onto several side roads, loudly imploring motorists to move from my path.

We screeched into the lab parking lot with 20 minutes to spare. The four year old instantly unbuckled and sprang from the van.

“Out of the way,” he bellowed to those passing by. “We’ve got poop to deliver.” He began to walk determinedly towards the entrance.

“Oh geez.” I apologized to the lady exiting the car next to us and hurried after him.

With a great sigh of relief, I deposited the….ummmm…. deposit, onto the desk, and the technician began to log it in.

“Where’s the second sample?” she inquired.

“At home…..in my freezer,” I replied slowly with a sinking feeling.

“Oh,” she chuckled. “We freeze it here. I’ll need you to run home and bring it right back in order to get these processed today.”

I am a writer. But, in that moment, there were no words.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. How is she going to transition this story into a Bible verse and message?

Well, here goes.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:  A time to weep and a time to laugh.”  Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

There are some moments in life, mama, when you just need to laugh.

Filled with worry over a sick child.  Amidst the anxiety of test results. When everything surrounding you seems like, well…. poop. There is the blessed, rejuvenating, restoring gift of laughter to heal the soul and lift the spirit.

And, as I loaded the kiddos back into the car, to spend another hour of our day transporting bodily waste, you better believe, I threw back my head and laughed.

I hope you enjoyed a good laugh on me. If you have had an experience that has left you speechless and doubled over laughing, please share below. God gave us the gift of laughter for a reason. Spread the joy!