This is a post about poop, and the fact I cannot handle it. I’ll do my best to make it easy to read without making anyone uncomfortable, cause in earnest, I’ve got a very low threshold for it myself. I won’t make anyone read anything I wouldn’t read myself.

I know that no one (except some real whack-jobs) likes shit, but I really can’t stand it. I was so happy when my first kid no longer wore diapers. Shortly thereafter, we had another. Small price to pay really, diapers… Still not something I do without difficulty. If I can’t pull my shirt up over my nose, I actually gag a lot.

My hat goes off to my wife… She works in an assisted living home, and frequently has to clean older folks. No way in hell could I ever do that. They’d have mushrooms growing out of their arse before I even considered changing them. I’m sorry, but there are just some things that some people cannot do. That is such a thing, and I am such a people.

I don’t even like when *I* go. I can’t stand the smell, so I give myself a courtesy flush… the water is already swirling before I deploy, and I never look… I could be bleeding for all I know. Ignorance is bliss.

I hate that some people can talk about it at any given time. It frequently comes up during dinner, and it doesn’t seem to phase anyone but me. Shit is the last thing I want to think of when I’m eating beef stew, thanks.

About a year ago, I was working and in the middle of a conference call. 2 of 2 who at the time, I think, was around one year old, was up in her crib napping. I felt badly, cause she’d been in bed a while, and had I not been so busy, I’d have considered getting her up, but I figured, eh… she’s sleeping, let her sleep. She’ll holler when she wakes up.

Then I heard her playing. She was tossing some jingly animal of hers around, having a great time. I was about forty minutes from the end of my conference call, so I figured, eh, she’s happy… Let her play.

My conference call came to an end, and still she was laughing and cooing, and just generally sounding happy. I still felt a little guilty about leaving her in her crib, but I knew she was safe, and she was happy, so no harm done…

Sitting here on the couch, probably in the same exact spot I’m sitting right now, my nose detected that feint whiff that only a parent of a child in diapers, a child who was recently switched to solid foods, could detect… The “There’s a dirty diaper upstairs and on the other end of the house” smell.

“Ah shit,” I muttered, not intending a pun, and having no idea how prophetic the word was.
As I climbed the stairs, the degree of stink changed gradually. As I started, it went from “A dirty diaper upstairs” to “A dirty diaper… did I leave one ON the stairs?” halfway up it changed to “omg, what’d she eat”, and at the top, I’d pretty much resigned myself to the fact that it must have leaked through the diaper, and I was going to have to give her a bath right that moment.

2 of 2 had experienced an adult size movement, removed her clothes AND her diaper… To say there was shit everywhere, would be unfair to the level of effort my daughter had put into making sure it was, in fact, everywhere it could possibly be, given her limited play area. Hair, face, neck, walls, crib, floor… everywhere.

I spent the next three hours cleaning, and the following four days SWEARING I could still smell it on my hands, even though I wore gloves.

So that’s my shitty story. Anyone else got one they’d like to share?


6 thoughts on “Poo

  1. Oh Matt….kids think of that “stuff” as extremely maleable play doh. You aren’t a parent until you’ve shoveled, scraped and washed the s**t! By the time you are done that “stuff” won’t bother you any more, nor will snot or barf or any other disgusting substance that can come out of a child. Hang in there..it only gets worse before it gets better.

  2. Yeah, I’m 45 and my mom STILL tells the story of how she left me in my playpen while she cleaned the house. While she was cleaning a friend she hadn’t seen since before I was born had stopped by to see me and yep, there I was, covered in poop. Head to toe!

  3. Aw, Matt, a poop-wiener, eh? So let’s see how brave I am. Ahem. Something that freaks me out to my bones: people who walk an 8-inch dog on a string, gloved hand, ready to pick up said dog’s deposits as soon as they are dropped to the ground. Yes, I give them high marks for collecting those deposits. I simply can’t imagine myself waiting for body-temp turds to drop from the dog’s butt into my waiting hands. Ugh.My nephew was a beautiful little Native American baby. An elderly lady friend bent into the stroller to coo at him, and he didn’t disappoint. He smiled and kicked his little legs. I saw the “pooping” look on his face and felt grateful for modern day diapers, etc. Well, it was raging diarrhea. As he sat in the stroller, the brown line of demarcation rose higher and higher on his light-colored outfit. No way to hide it, disguise it or pretend it was anything other than what it was. Yow!And, yes, to my horror, I got “messy” according to family legend and nearly made my teenaged father pass out with anxiety.

  4. Well, fer not liking to talk about shit, you sure did a good job with that post. I never had the pleasure of cleaning any epic poo parties with either of my kids, and thank god ’cause I would have been the one to have to clean it up.It will get better…I promise.

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