Poop

FYI-- The following post is about poop, farts, poop jokes, and my own experiences with poop and/or pooping. If you are easily grossed out, please stop here.


Years ago, when I was in college, I had a roommate who had a boyfriend who was a bit on the squeamish side. See, the bathroom that we shared was actually in my bedroom and he didn't like for anyone else to know the going-ons of his bowels, so I would usually leave the room. He was also squeamish enough to not refer to these going-ons as pooping, sh*tting, taking a dump, etc. He called it "grumping." It's not so much that I'm squeamish, but rather sometimes modest (for example, I still don't fart in front of my husband). But I managed borrow this term and so in our house, we grump.
The catch is that I lived with boys. All boys. Boys find great humor in words and events such as pooping, or farting or any bodily function/excretion. It got so bad that we created a rule for these jokes: Potty jokes and remarks could only be said in the actual bathroom. So you'll often find H.Bomb grabbing a hand, pulling of us into the bathroom so he can shout out words like "poop!" or "penis!" It's a riot at our house, I'm telling ya.
Here comes the most important part of the story-- my renewed realization the my bathroom time will never be the same. It started last year when I was in the labor and had to have Jason's help as my body cleared itself of everything. I became a fan of colace for several weeks after Ethan's birth and had to discuss my poop with my ob/gyn when I went in at 6 weeks postpartum. Changing diapers was never a big deal, but man did I learn a lot about poop. And now, I've officially helped to potty train one son, working on number 2, I have wiped a lot of butts. But the bathroom, despite H's rule, has always been a place where I could escape and have a few minutes of "me" time (is it sad, that my chance to go to the bathroom also counts as alone time?). Not anymore, though. Toddlers and preschoolers have once again reminded me that my pooping, or not pooping, or trying to poop or too much poop is EVERYONE'S business, as just the other day, I had to quickly get home so as to use my own toilet as opposed to the one at the park. H was with me, so I turned on the tv for him and raced back to my bathroom. I was relaxed until I heard the tiny preschool sized fingers tap-tap-tapping at my bathroom door (quick-- what poem and/or poet did I just allude to? First person to comment with the answer wins a candy bar!). My space had been invaded; I couldn't even poop in peace. Do you have any idea how hard it is poop whilst a four year old is dancing in front of you, asking you how you're doing at "getting that one out?" I guess I need to get a lock.