this is a post about poop

Poop used to be funny.

Before children, Cort and I made constant poop jokes.

We even have a fake turd we pass back and forth.

But after this morning, I am officially waving the white flag in the direction of the brown stinky.

Yes, Poop, this is my surrender…

I apologize for giggling about you for all those years.

I am sorry for calling you Big Ones and Pooper Dupers and Buckies.

Forgive me for laughing so hard at the smell you emit that tears run down my face.

I will never again refer to something as tasting or smelling like “poop” or “sh*t”.

No, this morning you got your revenge.

I should have know you meant business (no pun intended) when you exploded out of Eddie all over the bathtub.

While I recognized we were lucky, I clearly tempted the poop gods by still giggling about turds.

It’s really hard not to though, when it seems that you can’t have a family dinner without discussing at least one of the children’s poop frequencies and/or poop consistency.

We have to laugh or we would gag.  Don’t you get that?

First it was whether or not Eddie’s were too hard or too loose or too infrequent or too frequent.

Now we have added infant poop to that discussion.

People without kids or who haven’t had little kids in a really long time look at us as if we have lost our minds.

In the same minute that we have been discussing the unseasonably warm Michigan weather, suddenly Cort and I are talking about what Charlie’s poop looks like.

And we don’t flinch.

It’s just family news to us.

(It’s yellow and seedy  most of the time, in case you want to know.  But getting exceedingly stinky.  Thank you, formula).

But apparently we have been joking around too much because this morning, you decided to get your revenge on me.

I changed no fewer than four HUGELY full, past capacity, VERY near blow out, ungodly stinky baby diapers in less than four hours.

I found yellow smears of poo on my arms, fingers and clothing.

And the whole time the baby scream-cried.

And kicked those little bird legs of his.

And put his little bird feet in the poop.

And kicked it onto me and his changing mat and his other leg.

Yes, Poop, you are winning today.

By a landslide (again, no pun intended).

But tomorrow I will regain control.  I will kick your booty, Poop.

Otherwise all of Sluiter Nation is going to start to smell very, VERY bad.

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