Fat Mogul vs. Mountains and Mountains and Mountains of POOP!

found at the instituteofman.com
found at the instituteofman.com

I talked earlier this week about what happens when my son’s out of his pants…what about when he fills his pants?

No, but honestly, this morning, after dealing with a son who woke up and immediately filled his pants and a daughter who missed the mark a bit when wiping and had a finger covered in the stuff that parents can’t get away from…I decided to go away from the cute parenting discussion and get down to the just plain rotten part.

I live in a world of poop.  I mean, my daughter is housebroken, and mostly wipes herself even, but even with her, due to some digestive issues, I’m constantly needing to be aware of her poop.  My son is apparently a never-ending source of poop as almost every food out there likes to run straight through him.  Heck, the snow in my backyard is starting to melt and I am now able to see the tops of a literal poop mountain from my dog’s winter’s worth of defecation…

Poop.

Although I’m much less squeamish about the stuff now that I’ve got four years of wiping butts under my belt (that’s oddly phrased, isn’t it?), it’s still the one thing about parenting that I just can’t get used to.  Give me a kid who is screaming because they cut their foot off during a tragic door slamming contest between them and their sibling.  That I know how to cope with.  It’s got an end game.

Poop…just doesn’t seem to stop.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are definitely adorable bits to the whole pooping thing.  I remember during my daughter’s early days of potty training where we were at the airport and she and my wife ran off to hit to toilets.  She came running back, beaming from ear to ear and yelled across the terminal, “Dad, I dropped a deuce!”.  That’s a proud daddy moment right there.

Or, you know, her birthday party where she came out and proudly announced the enormous turd she left for me to go see.

Heck, every time my son poops in the potty he gives me his most devilish of grin and threatens to fill my potty up…with poop.

In fact, poop seems to be a fairly standard piece of conversation around my house in general.  I have a hard time telling the kids not to talk about poop at the dinner table because I realize how often it comes up in conversation throughout the rest of the day.  Poop is an integral part of my life right now.

And I’m still not used to it.

I should say, I’m not used to dealing so much with other people’s poops, because I, personally, love to poop…but there’s absolutely nothing adorable about that statement, so before you all close your browser windows in fear that I will go into an ode to my time on the toilet, never fear…I don’t like making my pooping public…

But here’s the thing, the thing that really set it all off for me, that’s caused me to be thinking about this subject a lot lately (outside, of course, of the fact that I just can’t seem to get away from it).  The other day, whilst glancing at facebook momentarily, I came across a friend who had posted a picture of their child’s most recent success in a potty chair…That’s right, I had taken my phone out of my pocket to enjoy a brief respite from the mountains of poop that the rest of my life seems to entail, and was greeted with a photo of a turd.

You see, this was a mom who’s obviously come to terms with poop in a way that I (and I believe most of the rest of the world) never will.  She was so proud of her kid’s ability to control her sphincter that she had absolutely no qualms about sharing that victory, visibly, on the net for the whole world to see. I saw that picture and, after immediately turning my phone off to be free of the image, found myself thinking, man, I wish I could be that cool with poop.

I mean, I talk a strong game, but when it comes down to it…I think I’m actually afraid of the stuff.

And it never stops coming.

That, my friends, is what parenting is…constantly facing the things your parents spent your whole childhood teaching you to be afraid of (because they didn’t want you to be the kid that smears it on the mirror)…of course, those fears aren’t just poop-related.  Parents have to deal with all of that stuff that you are taught to run from, poop, vomit, boogers, snot, big slimey saliva face, and a whole host of other disgusting items.  More than likely you’ll find yourself wanting to run from at least one of those items upon seeing them…I’ve come to terms with most of them… but I have a feeling I’ll never come to terms with all of them.

I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not a doctor:


Have fun out there!

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