In my house we do not talk about poop. This is always the way it’s been, I have never found it interesting or necessary or funny to talk about. My brother and sister, on the other hand- hysterical with laughter about toilet humor, even now in their mid-twenties.
It is not discussed between Clive and I, basically ever. Even though in the BVI he was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, and poop NEEDED to be talked about. We also lived in a bachelor apartment and so it’s not like it could be totally avoided because, well, ya know. When I got pregnant I said to him one day, “you know, when he’s born we’re going to have to talk about poop.” “No we’re not.” “Um, yes we are.” The birth of Ash has forced us to talk about poop, but it’s always a very matter-of-fact kind of conversation, no laughing, no jokes, just “did he poop?” “yes.” “okay.” It’s just something that happens, there’s nothing else to it.
And I’d like to keep it that way. I do not like to think about my significant other on the toilet. Actually, my ex used to pee sitting down and it grossed me out so much that it was one of the main reasons I couldn’t see myself with him for the rest of my life. No, I just do not need to think about you in that context. Never would I ever want to purposely look at your poop, unlike some couples do (WHY GODDAMMIT, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?) or poop with the door open, no thanks.
Anyway, imagine my surprise when at 27.5 months old, Ash says his very first poop joke.
Conversation goes:
From the back seat. “Milk.”
“What?”
“Milk.”
“What kind of milk? Cows milk, soy milk, rice milk?”
“Boobie milk!”
“No, no boobie milk [I don't nurse during the day], how about some rice milk?”
“No thank you. Boobie milk!”
“How about elephant milk? Butterfly milk? Octopus milk? Fire breathing dragon milk?”
“hahahhaa noooooo!”
“Kitten milk? Cheswick [his bear] milk? Puppy Mathias [his stuffed dog] milk?”
“Nooo! How about POOPY MILK???! Yuck, gross! eckkkk, ewww! pth pthhhh yucky!!!”
I guess it’s inevitable, raising a kid – especially a boy!
