There comes a day in every mommyblogger’s life when she must ask herself how she stands on poop. Will she address it? And if so, how? Will she write about poop and its circumstances at length? And where does one draw the line with poop? Where does the experience of the poop-cleaner-upper’s start to transgress too far into the personal privacy of the pooper? And who is to say that the trauma of one–that of the poop-cleaner v. that of the pooper–is more or less important than the other? Who owns the poop experience? And who has to take it out to the trash?
That day is not today for me, apparently, because I’ve covered the poop topic extensively before. But today is different in the sense that the siren song of excrement is calling to me for celebratory reasons instead of profane ones. You see, Mini, at just under 23 months, has decided to take his first poop on the potty.
So it’s confirmed: this child is an overachiever. Sure, there are probably kids–genetically engineered or something–who do it earlier, but not by much. And I know that all parents are proud of their little ones, blind to their faults, convinced that everything they do is impressive and interesting. The difference is, my kid is truly impressive and interesting. Even without the lens of parental pride, you must bear witness to his excellence!
Oh yes, I’ve always known it. I’ll admit that I didn’t necessarily believe that the first concrete proof I would get of his excellence was going to involve the crapper. But I did know it was there–when he first smiled, when he flipped over at like, 2 weeks old or something, the first time he laughed at me doing a British accent and saying, “Good DAY, sir!.” The child is destined for greatness, I say: in poop, and in the world beyond.
There are moments when his excellence displays a dark side, I admit. For example, he becomes frustrated if his trains do not line up perfectly, in the order he desires, every single time. Or needing to brush the (mostly imaginary) dirt of off his hands after touching communal gymnasium equipment at My Gym. But such are the peccadilloes that are part and parcel of genuis! And even if It was a little insulting that Mini insisted on going over with me the finer points of the Love & Logic book I’m reading to learn how to discipline him, I appreciated the time he took out of his schedule to do so. Because let’s face it, it’s probably only a matter of months before he’s doing math that is way beyond me, like chaos theory and that 5th-dimensional shit.
OK, so maybe it’s not earth shattering to poop on the potty. Your kids have been doing it for years. But I’m not often surprised you see. And I had not even gone and looked at potty training books or portable potties or any of that (cough) shit yet because 1) Mini’s not even 2 yet; and 2) he’s a boy, so I’ve been expecting another year or so of the diaper dance. That’s what they led me to believe on BabyCenter, anyway. But lately he’s been doing this thing where he’s touching his diaper annoyingly, like right after I change him. as if to say, “What’s with this fucking diaper, woman?” or “What am I, a BABY?” and then today, a brief episode of constipation led to him being put on the potty directly and sure enough, he did it, no problem, no fear. We’ll see how he does in the weeks to come, as we start trying to train him in earnest, but man, this kid is just full of surprises. (The good kind.)