I didn't get a bidet until after having a child. I should've done it years ago.

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The author. Courtesy of Jill Kolongowski
I got a bidet after having a child and it changed my life.
Changing diapers was my way of showing love to my daughter; The bidet is my way of loving myself.
Now I talk to everyone about my butt and urge them to try a bidet.
Let me tell you about my bidet.
When I sit down, the seat is already warm. When I'm done I can choose exactly how I want to blast my anus clean: freezing cold to wake me up when I poo a poo after my little daughter wakes up at 5am, or warm, or even hotter, that kind of heat that seems unnecessary but sometimes burns just right. I choose the angle and beam width. Holding the bidet remote control and pressing the buttons has a pleasant video game effect – I press a button and everything is a little bit better.
I'm a bidet evangelist. Before I got the bidet and had a kid, I didn't think too much about my butt. But now when people come to visit, I almost ask them to try it. I've never talked or wanted to talk about my asshole that much. But I feel like I have a secret. I now see an everyday visit to the toilet as something nice. yes beautiful
As a mom, poop is always in my life
When I'm on the toilet in the bathroom and my now 2 year old walks in, the bidet can continue its work. She wraps her whole body over my knees as I sit on the toilet and I love her weight and wonder what it feels like to be her: loving someone so much you want to hug them while they poop. My daughter on the other side of my body says "Hello Mom" ​​like she misses me even though I was here the whole time.
And of course I realize that I know what that love is like. When my daughter was a little baby everyone warned me about diaper bursts, poop everywhere, endless laundering of baby poop that ended up being covered in baby poop and my whole house smelling of baby poop. People cried over baby poop and gagged over it. I understand it. I did - but I loved changing her diapers.
I loved the way her poop looked because she told me what she couldn't tell me herself: she was fine. And if she wasn't feeling well, if she had an allergy, I wasn't afraid to check for signs, like blood in her stool. I put my face right next to it. I loved the way I could wipe them clean, tie everything into a neat bundle, throw it away and make everything better.
When she was so little, every cry was a desperate plea from a person I adored but whose language I couldn't speak. I longed to know the right thing for just one task. Some days the whole day was reduced to the trash can that slowly filled with diapers, meaningless.
But most days, changing a diaper was a love letter. It was important - our life, my daughter's life, depended on it. Changing a diaper was my favorite activity: A dry diaper was the clearest way I could say, "I see what's going on and I know what to do." It was an exercise in being gentle. It was caring. it was love I sang as I wiped, took my daughter's feet and kissed them, soles still as tender as tops, still so new.
The bidet is my self-love
Once I'm washed, I can hit the dry button on my bidet, and a gentle Caribbean breeze will dry my butt while I wait. I close my eyes for a few seconds.
I still haven't figured out how to put into words the joy of having children. It's easier to write about poop. So many people wanted to tell me how difficult it was to have a baby and I know why they did it. Some days, many days, I think I just can't do it. But then there's a diaper to change. i can throw it away Right now I can make her feel better quickly and easily.
Then my daughter bursts into the bathroom while I'm on the toilet waiting to be dried off because she just can't wait to see me anymore. I pull her onto my lap and love how my arms can wrap all the way around her. She puts her head on my shoulder. The drying cycle ends. We both feel better.
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