Let's talk about poop!

Okay, this probably won't amuse you unless you're a mom, so if can't relate, it's probably best to just skip this post.

I saw this on a onesie once: "Why
does everyone always blame me when something
smells around here?"
Photo credit: Cris Watk.

My 8-year-old is going through that Alfred E. Neuman stage where all he talks about are poop and pee. Of course I tell him I don't want his brother saying things like that, but then I think - wait a minute: moms talk about poop all the time. I know there are people who complain about their mom friends talking about their kids' poop on Facebook. But I guess that's our job, like a rite of passage. It doesn't faze me anymore; in fact, I find it rather entertaining and perhaps a little scary that after one particularly amazing bowel movement my child managed to produce, I was actually considering taking pictures just to show my husband when he got home from work.

(He, in turn, brought up the aforementioned bowel movement to our neighbor and she finished his thought for him with, "And she was about to take a picture of it, right?" which we both found amusing. So I guess I'm not the only one.)

As a sort of jumping off point from yesterday's post, I often wonder, when will it ever end?! I'm not in any real rush to start potty training; in fact, I've been kind of lazy about it, actually. Tater Tot does quite well, just only when he wants to. One day in big boy underwear was enough for me, considering when I think of potty training my Persian rug usually comes to mind. But man, wrangling a kid into a change-friendly position is sometimes about all I can handle. Some days he's totally okay and mellow, and other days - like today - I literally was changing him as he was lying face down hanging over the edge of the coffee table. He thought it was hilarious. I did not.

Yesterday as we were shopping, Tater Tot got really quiet while sitting in the shopping cart. I looked over at him and his little face was turning red - when I asked him the obvious question he frowned, pushed me away and told me, "Get out of here!" I guess you're entitled to your personal space, even if it is in the middle of the vitamin aisle.

And while I probably won't be buying diapers much longer (hopefully), I'm sure to carry wipes with me. Because you never know when those turnpike pit stops are going to pop up.

I also wonder, do you have names for your kids' poop? Like in relation to size, especially? I hope I'm not alone on this. Usually the ones the size of a walnut or less smell like the worst thing you've ever smelled in your entire life. And the 'Florida' ones, as we've affectionately called them, still plug up the freakin' toilet even after special care is taken to assure their safe passage. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

What's the weirdest place or position you've ever changed a diaper in? And how long into the conversation before you and other moms start talking about 'the inevitable?'