Intestinal Fortitude

Being a Mom has introduced me, even just in three short years, to many experiences and subjects that I'd rather have died without knowing. And this summer has involved my most hated of subjects:

Poop.

I hate poop.

I hate talking about poop.

I hate knowing that people have to go poop.

I even lied to my husband the first year of our marriage by telling him I never did. I wish that were true. I'd be first in line for the surgery if there was one.

So when you are a coprophobe or a rhypophobe (who knew there were actual poop-phobes!), potty training your child is not a easy thing to do. You have to talk about poop A LOT! And you have to deal with poop A LOT! On the floor, on their clothes, on their bodies, and sometimes, in the toilet.

'Sweetie do you need to go poo-poo?'
'Oh what a big boy! You did a poo-poo in the potty'
'Honey, we do not poop on the kitchen floor'

I know, I know. I am strange. You probably come from the Taro Gomi school of bodily functions. The land where everyone poops and gas is something we pass. In fact, I know one friend of mine, in his college days, even had a poster, something like this. He thought it was hilarious and asked my opinion once...how is one even supposed to respond? My sister-in-law will go on and on about the importance of regular bowel movements in order to have overall good health. Or you at least realize it happens, accept it, and do your thing without much thought or consternation (or is it constipation!).

This is not my world!

However, today something magical happened. It is impetus for this post and for my overall happy demeanor.

Wi, my oldest, pooped in the potty. I wasn't sitting there with him, hoping it would happen, reading stories. He walked into the bathroom, put his potty chair on, and did his thing. I went in and he was standing, looking into the potty. His face lit up with glee! We stood, the two of us, staring at the offering he had given the porcelain God.

And I haven't talked about anything else all day.