Just like you’re not considered a true momblog until you’ve retold a good poop tale, the same can be said in real life. Once you become a mother, the list of suitable conversation topics gets skewed. As adamant as you are beforehand that it won’t happen, you will find yourself recounting every motion of your darling’s bathroom visits in disturbing detail.
Even over breakfast.
My parents and I went out for a morning meal recently. The hostess sat us at a table next to a large family with a number of cute little kids. One of which was apparently in the throes of potty training, which of course the mother wanted to include everyone else in. While in the middle of our breakfast, I overheard their conversation shift familiar gears.
“Speaking of going number 2”, she began, “yesterday he came to me and said he needed to go poop. So he took down his underwear and starting running through the house with his pants around his ankles.” That’s when one of her other family members asked a question to clarify before continuing on, “He said he had to poop. But he never went poop…”. And on it went.
She said poop at least 10 times while telling this story.
All over a breakfast of sausage links and pancakes.
I’ve written about poop twice now just this week alone.
I wonder if that lady has a blog?