Had you told me 6 years ago that today just about every conversation I have would revolve around someone else's poop, I would have laughed hysterically in your face. I probably would have laughed so hard I would have peed my pants a little and not been able to breathe, and screamed "STOP!! STOP!! YOU'RE KILLING ME!"
Now, I am not laughing. Because the cold hard truth is that when you are a mother just about every conversation you have revolves around poop.
It starts the day that little pink squishy baby is born, and sadly doesn't ever stop. At first it is spreadsheets and charts to track the poopy diapers and their color and consistency, then it progresses into dinner conversations of how many poops there were that day. Somewhere around 2 1/2 it evolves into "Will this child EVER poop in a toilet?"
When potty training does start, you become best friends with M&M'S, and one dollar bills, and other forms of bribery, and in my case the liquor cabinet. Sometimes the potty part isn't a problem, but the POOPING part is. It is a HUGE problem.
Like now. Bacon Bits was potty trained and doing great for over 8 weeks, and then started crapping his pants again. So this week he is home, naked from the waist down so that he can re-learn how to use the toilet. And once again, every damn conversation I have is somehow related to poop.
I like to think that I have become some sort of fecal expert. A diarrhea diagnostician. Something like that to at to my momsume', something MARKETABLE. (Although, who really needs a diarrhea diagnostician? I mean that is sort of self explanatory.)
I do dream of the day that I can talk to my friends and family about something and not have it somehow come back to poop. Like in the good old days, when if someone burst out in "Diarrhea! Cha-Cha-Cha!" it was for fun, not part of a description of the day's activities.