Not sure about anyone else out there, but my life, for the most part, seems to revolve around poop.
It is a sad but true statement. And when I stop to think about it, I wonder if it was always this way, and I just never realized it. For whatever reason, anything related to pooping and farting is apparently humorous. Not sure how or why this came to be, but I guess it falls under that category of 'bodily function humor.'
Growing up I distinctly remember the classic whoopie cushion on the chair tricks, the arm pit fart noises, and the ever-popular blowing into the palms of your hands fart sounds. Not overly creative of us as a whole, but hey, I guess you stick with what you know. I have also found myself chuckling at poop stories involing emergencies, make shift toilets, creative toilet paper and flat-out debacles involving events that destroy others' plumbing systems.
But since my kids were born, poop seems to have taken over my life.
First, they have to scare the bajesus out of you, telling you what to expect post partum in the digestive department. I mean, it could scare you enough into not having more children. Of course though, it’s all about your newborn bundle of cuteness,and the cuteness of what comes out of the cutest tushie you have ever laid eyes on. You quickly realize there is nothing cute about it, and learn of the different kinds of poop—what's deemed medically normal and abnormal—and the ongoing excitement every time your little one produces a dirty diaper...no matter how disgusting. A healthy working digestive system is a happy digestive system!
Unfortunately, once that system finally does run like clockwork, well, then you're on poop’s schedule. And once that schedule derails, you can find yourself in an embarrassing situation in a popular retailer horrified to the point of having to throw your child's outfit away, and yours, and charge up a storm in re-dressing and embarrassment fees.
Not being able to leave the house with a potty training toddler, because no one in their right mind wants to be caught off guard with that accident in a car, or store, or god forbid pool. We have taken it upon ourselves, at the expense of one public accident too many, to travel with a car potty that has come into play—and to the rescue—on just about every recent road trip.
And it’s not just about actually pooping. It’s about talking about poop, over and over again. I think the word 'poop,' in context of potty training my toddler, must come out of my mouth 20 times a day easily. And with a 3-year-old son who thinks everything about poop is hilarious, well, there is about the 100 times it comes out, non potty related. When they finally reach that stage of independence where you're free of poop, you are at the age where once again, poop is running your own life. Lactose, gluten, allergies, food bacteria….there is no end to where or when disaster of the number-two kind can strike.
And then finally you get older—and, once again, you start eating prunes and pray for...you know what.