I used to think my own diarrhea was uncomfortable. Then I had a toddler with diarrhea. Now I understand hell.

I was hunched over my toddler, changing her poopy butt. It was a Saturday, and she’d pooped five times that day. Five times! Once was too many. Her poor little bum was maroon, and as I wiped, she squirmed and cried, and ended up sticking her foot in the dirty diaper.

Her heel was coated in poop, kicking and flailing around, and I found myself yelling at …