I am not at all averse to discussing (in detail) my *eh hem* regularity. Fact. Even so, I could never have predicted just how much I would think/talk/write about the bodily fluids of my child once I became a parent.
First you have the meconium, then you’re changing and endlessly oxycleaning those yellow poops out of clothes. Poop-splosions. Remember those? Then they start to poop a little less and you’re like, is this enough poop? Is this normal? (Actually that’s the main question parents ask themselves about everything–is this normal?) Then you start introducing solids. The colour and odour shifts. You’re back to doctor google. You ask yourself if you can handle another grape poop again (the skins, am I right?). So focused on the poop analysis are you, that you’ve failed to consider that others may not share your fascination. Amazingly, the smell has yet to really bother you at all.
Before long, the monkey starts fighting changes and diaper time becomes battle royale. Messy in a whole new way. Every once in a while you realize your munchkin has *sniff* gone up a diaper size. Then as they get even bigger, they may start hiding while they poop or telling you to go away. If they are especially mobile at this time, they will likely out-manoeuvre you as long as possible in order to sit in that squishy mess until they have some telltale red bumps forming on their perfect bottoms. This may be the time you start considering potty training more seriously. And perhaps the smell has finally begun to tickle your gag reflex on occasion.
Ah won’t it be divine to no longer have diapers? You are excited and terrified. No matter your strategy, there’s a high probability you will find yourself knee deep in pee and poop in a way you hadn’t thought possible.
This stage is followed by a new obsession: the toilet.
You’re constantly gauging how long it’s been since junior tinkled. When did they last drink water? Have they pooped today? Can’t leave the house without using the potty or arrive anywhere before giving it a go. Finger’s crossed they won’t have any accidents at the grocery store or on your friends nice new rug. Instead of diapers, you are now equipped with a portable potty seat and multiple changes of clothes. You now reflexively suggest a potty break every 30 minutes. You genuinely thrill at every successful pee or poop. Not only are you proud of your kiddie for mastering their new skill, but you’ve now scored a few carefree minutes before you have to locate the next toilet. Potty breaks now determine where you go and toilet proximity determines how long you can stay there. If you’re pregnant at this point, the one benefit is that your pee schedules align quite nicely making your body a pretty handy timer.
With a new little fella on the way, the cycle is destined to repeat itself. I will try my darnedest to channel more palatable topics when we hang out though. I can’t promise I won’t be thinking about number one and two, mind you. I have at least another four years of this ahead of me. It’s even possible there is another stage of potty obsession I haven’t even considered. Honestly though, it doesn’t even bother me. It recently occurred to me, however, that perhaps it’s not quite so thrilling for every one else. I really can sometimes talk about other things, I swear. I can even talk about someone other than my child, if I concentrate really hard.
Oh you don’t mind, you say? Well pull up a chair, friend.