I will start this post with yet another disclaimer. I know that in approximately two years, I will have to delete this or my four year old will hate me for the rest of his life. Luckily, he has no idea how to read yet.
Until then, enjoy this post because he says some pretty funny shit. No pun intended.
The phrase toilet humor made no true sense to me until I had a four-year old boy. Then he learned about poop and I realized I would hear about it every day for the rest of my life.
Maybe we talked about poop too much when he was younger. I remember trying to potty train him and reading him books about poop. Animals poop. People poop. Babies poop. Even Elmo poops!
“Look Henry, Elmo poops on the potty! And he goes pee pee in the potty too, not in Mommy’s boot, like you did earlier.”
From that point on, poop took over 95% of my child’s brain. The other 5% was focused on pure and total destruction.
Nowadays, Henry requests my presence when he has to poop. You know, just someone to have a friendly chat with and bounce ideas off of, like a smelly think tank with no white board.
I normally sit on the edge of the bathtub, and we chat about everything from who he played with that day at school to what would be the yuckiest thing to put on a pizza (poop) to his imaginary friend named Donnie and how they are going ghost hunting soon.
That is when I realized why men have their greatest revelations while pooping. Because my son says a lot of epic things while he poops. He also has some surprisingly good ideas. I can almost see the little wheels turning in his head.
He loves to narrate everything that is going on with his specific bowel movement. One day, he sat down and I heard the plop of poop in the water. (I know, this could get potty humor graphic. If you are offended, have a boy and get back to me.) He got super excited and exclaimed, “Oh wow Mama, it splashed on my bottom!” He laughed and clapped like it was the greatest thing ever.
A lot of times he will be telling me about his day while sitting on the throne and pause, clench every muscle in his body, and squeeze one out. He then breathes a sigh of relief and continues the conversation like nothing ever happened.
His favorite bowel movement took place on a day that he pooped, but there was nothing on his bottom. That was the day he proclaimed that clean poop was his favorite.
Now when he sits down, he likes to tell me that he prays for clean poop when he goes to church. I am so glad that he has his four year old priorities straight.
So now I know that if he is in a bad mood, all I have to do is tell a poop joke. If he is throwing a tantrum and turning bright red from sobbing for no reason, I can call him Henry Poopy Poopity Poop Pants and he will laugh.
Call me a bad mom, but he knows we are only allowed to talk about poop at home. I haven’t received any complaints from the preschool yet, so cross your fingers people.
As I’m typing this, Henry is running in circles around the living room naming every object, saying poop after it and laughing, Couch Poop. Newman Poop. Blanket Poop. Dada Poop. Lamp Poop. This could go on for an hour. Or more.
So my days are split between telling poop jokes, sitting at a desk making pivot charts and tables, and sleeping. I also have a one year old, so I have a solid six more years of poop talk to look forward to.
I hope all you other moms can relate. Or maybe my kid is just a little weird, like his mom. And dad. Sorry Logan.
Until Next Time,