I hate potty talk.
Since I was born (well, after that, but you get the idea), I’ve despised people who talk about the things that take place behind the closed doors of a bathroom stall or master en suite. It’s not that I’m not an over-sharer in other areas of my life (emotional, relational, etc.), but in the particular area of bodily fluids I am most definitely a closed book. And I want everyone else to be as well.
When it came to my friends’ kids, I was no different. There was nothing I despised more than listening to women at baby showers discuss the digestive issues of their young children. Hearing that little Randy was constipated, that little Jamie farted like a pro, that little Jessie could projectile vomit across a room, or that little Susie excelled at diaper blowouts, topped my list of reasons I would leave a party in two seconds flat.
Once, I walked in on a business school classmate washing her baby’s butt in the sink in the women’s public restroom and I thought I might have to officially report the outrage to the dean. A baby’s butt! In the sink! Can you imagine?! I was actually offended.
And then I became a mom.
And everything I swore would never change changed in an instant.
In the past eight weeks since the birth of my daughter, I’ve spent roughly eight hundred hours (give or take) discussing the fine points of her digestive issues and bodily functions. And not just to a select few confidents. No, no. I’ll glad talk to anyone who will listen.
The gardener. The checkout gal. My accountant. If you’re near me, I’ll bring it up.
They say that parenting changes you. They say your life will be like nothing you ever imagined and that you will be hard pressed to remember your life before. I had heard all this but had never really thought it was true. Now I know. Oh is it true. Oh my, is it true.
A few days after my daughter was born, I was whining about something potty-talk related. My friend, whose kids are now preteens but who still indulges us mothers of infants, asked me a simple question: “Do you even remember life without Lucia?”
The answer? No.
But I really don’t remember life without her poop.