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"My stomach hurts."

The complaint was a recurring one, uttered by my 5-year-old for the past year. We'd been to the pediatrician, endured several rounds of bloodwork 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 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 into the car to purchase a supply, in case the 5-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 5-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 5-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 5-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 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. Sixty 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.

Of course she had to poop during rush hour. Traffic was bumper to bumper and the stopwatch was ticking down. We screeched into the lab parking lot with 20 minutes to spare. My 4-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."

Time stopped. Words escaped me. There are some moments in life when you just need to laugh.

Filled with worry over a sick child, when everything surrounding you seems like, well, poop, thank goodness there is the rejuvenating 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.

- Jennifer Louise Diaz

Jennifer Louise Diaz is a writer, ministry leader and motivational speaker. She has a degree in social work, and her years working in this profession have ignited her passion for helping women find their buried laughter, faith and joy. Jenn's love of comedy, the written word and storytelling create an engaging platform to share her message, both online and in person. She writes a weekly blog called "Devo on the Go" that highlights the hilarious insanity of being a mama to four kiddos.