I’m in full-on shower preparation mode. There is a gal at my church that I don’t know very well who will be having a baby girl very soon. I don’t think any of us know her very well. We were talking about things to do and ways to give her advice on bringing up her children. That made me think, which is never a good idea.
The one thing none of my friends told me before I started out on my journey through motherhood more than 8 years ago is that your life starts to revolve around poop. I’m not just talking about the how cute is it, what color is it, when is it gonna get smelly baby poop. It goes through potty training on to even now wondering exactly how that disgusting smear made it on the back part of the top of the toilet seat and desperately hoping that they remembered to wash their hands. Sorry. I just had to get this out. Maybe the pun was intended.
It starts in the hospital when you have to keep track of every poop to make sure everything is perfect. Then you get home and you watch the poop. The cute little mustardy poop that starts to get gross sometime around the introduction of solid food or formula. The things we buy to contain and store the poop. The things we buy to make sure eventually the poop gets deposited where it belongs… the princess throne, AKA the potty.
It’s not just me either. Being a mother means it’s okay to talk about poop. I was at a playgroup the other day and I swear to you 2 mothers were trying to out do each other in the which kid could have the worst blow out contest. I only smirked because really I knew my kids had theirs’ beat hands down.
Bria once managed a blowout so nasty it required a pressure washer and tons of disinfectant in the backyard. It was nasty enough that Arleigh and Hanan still remember it. I was making Greek chicken for dinner guests the other night and the girls looked at each other with fear. I said, “What’s wrong? You guys love this.” The reply was simple, “Mom, don’t you remember what happens to Bria when she eats that?” The blow out was months ago. Bria was still eating baby food at the time. I’m sure those dinner guests will never forget either. I’m also sure the high chair never fully recovered.
I thought Arleigh was so cute hiding to poop ever since she could walk. I would hear the grunts and peep around a corner to watch her red face. Little did I know it was the start of a long poop journey. You see, I was trying to be the best Mom. I was sooooo good. She drank tons of milk. She ate cheese and yogurt. I thought I was super mom building strong bones and helping her grow. I had no idea it would totally clog her up. I know. Dumb. Once I had to call a pediatrician because it had been 7 days with no bowel movement. He said to wait a couple more before I brought her in. That’s when I started slipping mineral oil into her cups. That produced a foul but soft poop loaded in grease. Yes, I had to look. You have no idea how happy it made me. My 3-year old no longer looked like she was giving birth to a horrible alien body every time she had a BM.
Then there are Hanan and Bria who can push it out like champs but may develop osteoporosis after their mother has become the dairy Nazi. I monitor everything they eat and their poop to make sure it’s okay. If I could find yet another way to get fiber in, I would.
I don’t just worry about poop at home. I smell something nasty at Home Depot and start to wonder, did I leave the diaper bag in the car? Do I have a diaper, wipes? Is there someplace to take her. I look the little charmer directly in the eye and ask with dread, “Are you stinky?” Only to hear soft giggles from the 8-year old in background. “No Mom, I just farted.” Awesome.
My girls are also obsessed with the poop. Thanks Dr. Oz. I never watch Oprah but I happened to have it on the day Dr. Oz talked about poop. About 2 months later, I hear screaming for me in the bathroom. I run. Someone must have lost an appendage or at the very least was gushing blood from a strange place. I get there to a small child pointing at the little log in the water. “It’s floating!” She wails. “He said if it floats, you aren’t healthy!” I’m serious. It actually happened. They are now aiming for the perfect, not floating S-shaped log. I’m sure I’ll hear the screaming again when it is achieved.
I fully expect that my life will continue to revolve around poop. I tell my Mom all the time, by the time I’m done having kids and getting them all potty trained, it’s going to be time for me to wipe her butt. She is of course mortified and continues to look for a home so that she won’t be mortified by me writing about her on this blog.
For your added pleasure, the picture was Bria in my shower last June. There is a blog about it here.