POOP

A blog post by my husband.

I have had a lifelong love affair with all things poopy. It began at an early age. When I was potty trained, I learned to show off my stool with pride. Most children outgrew this. Not me. My wife Cara refuses to look at my poop, although I think she’ll come around. And when she does, I’m sure it will be a seminal moment in her transformation to vegetarianism.

Being a pet owner has provided me with many poopy moments. I have had hamsters, turtles, cats, small dogs, big dogs and a parrot that pooped on command. The Good Lord saw fit to pepper this earth with such diversity of poop. However, I do think that poop has its time and place. That much I learned from my potty training. When I met Cara, she had trained her dogs to poop on the kitchen floor. No sh-t. I campaigned to have us move into an apartment with a patio, and I had a doggie door installed so our furry friends could poop at will. Unfortunately, the patio was not climate controlled, so accidents happened with enervating regularity. When we moved into our latest apartment, I committed to walking the dogs three times a day, and we have found our groove. In almost one year, there have been only three accidents, and I would like to think that my super duper poop scooping was the most important factor.

My relationship with poop has not been all sunshine and lolli-poops. When I was five, I pooped my pants and was sent to the nurse. My mom had to come to school with a fresh pair of underwear, and all the kids made fun of me. When I was six, I experimented with holding my poop in for as long as I could. I projectiled poop on the drapes all the way up to the ceiling. And when I was fourteen, I got so constipated that my trickster grandfather convinced me to drink a tall glass of olive oil and orange juice.

There have also been some bittersweet moments. Like the time one of the dogs ate my vegan chocolate mint cupcakes. On the one hand, I lost the most delicious cupcakes of my life, but on the other, it was the sweetest smelling diarrhea I ever had the pleasure to clean.

And now, I have come full circle with a child of my own. Having a baby has provided me with the greatest gift I could have ever asked for: diaper changes. Every time I change a diaper it feels like waking up to see what the toothy fairy left under my pillow. Big poops, small poops, yellow, brown, and green: it's more exciting than Dr. Seuss's dreams.

Poop has brought our family closer together. There was the time Aiven pooped up to his neck and we had to put him in the sink for time out. Or when Aiven shot poop like a cannon and splattered the door three feet away. We spent a delightful afternoon cleaning that up. And let us not forget the time we had to change his diaper on the corner of Broadway and 93rd. I mean that literally. On the corner.

I dread the day that I will have to give diapers up for potty training. But you can bet your tuches that I will be giving a standing ovation each and every time for as long as Aiven will let me see his poop.