Do? Do?

When I became a parent, my heart exploded and my whole world opened.  I learned about simple things.  How to make a perfect bottle.  How to swaddle a newborn baby.  How to give a squirmy child a bath.  I learned about the big things too.  How to love someone unconditionally.  How to emotionally connect with someone who cannot even speak.  How to let go of my wants for her needs.  But I also learned about something else.  Something that everyone does, but few people talk about.  Something that can make someone's day or keep someone cranky (and crampy).

That's right, people, I'm talking about poop.

Who knew another person's bowel movements could create such angst or give me such satisfaction?  Since the day she left my body, we talk about Princess's poop...a lot.  Just to clarify, though, Princess has had some "digestion" issues since birth, so there was plenty of material to work with.  

By the time my baby turned 3, though, I had hoped we would have shifted our topic focus.  Alas, we have not.  Now we just focus our conversation about where she did the doody - in a pull-up or on the potty?  Every day I have to ask her teacher the same question, "Did she have a bowel movement today?"  Every night as Princess rocks side-to-side while straining to hold the poopy inside her body, I have to explain that everybody goes poop.  She requires I recall the long list of everyone we know who goes poop.  

"Yes, Daddy goes poop.  Mommy goes poop.  Your teacher goes poop.  Amanda goes poop.  Mandie goes poop.  The postman goes poop.  Our dog goes poop.  Even grandma does."  And it goes on and on.  Anyone my daughter has ever met must be included in the list.  

Do you know how unsettling it is to think about everyone you know pooping?  Sit with that for a moment, if you will.

Not pleasant, I know.

But Princess's poops continue to be my husband and mine most-frequently discussed topics (along with people who piss us off and world peace).  And it looks as though it will be that way for many months in the future.  

Crap.