I have waited long enough for this post. It's time.
The human poop story.
I was reading through some of my older posts and realized that a tremendous amount of my posts deal with bodily fluids/materials. It's life. My life. God, that's pathetic.
I guess I will begin this tale with the description of my husband, since he is the reason for the human poop debacle. I am going to call him Homer. Yes, that's it! Homer! He'll LOVE it!
Homer is a man who was happily living his bachelor life and happened to stumble upon love (me!) while at work. I was a goofy waitress and he was a line cook at the restaurant that I worked at during college. Homer is 15 years older than me and had never been married or had kids. Bless his heart!
I married Homer and we had our first child the day after I graduated from college. Ok, I married him AFTER we had the child. I am not good with sequencing and I would like to pretend that I am wholesome.
Homer was not experienced with the little tricks of parenting and he often screwed things up royally, especially when dealing with poopy diapers.
One lovely summer afternoon after our second child was born, we had to go for a check-up at the pediatrician. When our name was called Homer offered to stay in the waiting room with our 2 year-old. After what seemed like 20 minutes, the nurse came in and began our appointment by complaining that the waiting room smelled like poop. There were like 5 toddlers and the fathers were all pretending that there was no problem.
Now here is where mommies and daddies differ.
Daddies ignore poop. I am not sure if this is on purpose or what, but they seem to have 0% of their olfactory sense in working order when there is the possibility that they might have to actually LOOK at the poop.
Mommies will take any opportunity to grab their running child by the waistband of the pants, pull like there might be treasure down there and shove their nose in for good measure. This happens like every 10 minutes at any Chuck E. Cheese (AKA Typhoid Mary's Diarrhea and Pizza Parlor), library or park.
I just knew it was my kid with the stinky drawers. So, I poked my head out of the exam room while the nurse was away and I shot my husband a look. He knew what it meant, it meant there would be no "relations" EVER if I had to change Child #1's pull-up.
Homer actually looked scared. I think he was still under the awe and amazement of seeing me give birth. He may have actually thought that I could pull some super-human shit and squish his head with my thumb and forefinger. I mean I had recently squeezed a whole entire human out of my woman part. Anything was possible.
So Homer left and went out to the car. I finished my appointment and was on my way out to the car. I was very mommy-like. I had overalls and Birkenstock sandals. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail and I was glowing from the report that my baby (Child #2) was clearly going to be advanced. Ok, so maybe I had imagined that part, but the possibility was there.
As I approached the car, I saw Homer's face contort into a combination of both fear and amusement. He attempted to speak but I was more concerned with discussing the results of our newborn's exam. It was then that he doubled over in laughter and with labored breath tried to tell me something.
"Hon, you just... (Uncontrollable laughter)"
"Hon, stop, just stop... (He is now crying and hooting)
"No, Hon, really... poop... you poop...Birkenstock..."
WTF?
The only thing that made sense was the word Birkenstock and the frantic pointing at my feet. So, I looked.
I was standing in the middle of the parking lot, carrying my newborn baby, while my husband laughed at my sandal that had a GIGANTIC BALL OF HUMAN POOP stuck to the side.
I have no idea what I said to Homer. I am sure it was laced with profanities. I do remember screaming and wondering (loudly) why there was poop in the parking lot.
My husband attempted to explain.
You see, he had to change the pull-up of Child #1. It is important to say pull-up, because we all know that these go on like "real kid underwear". However, mothers know that you CAN rip the sides and take them off like a diaper when there is a "mishap".
Homer did NOT know this helpful piece of information. He pulled the pull-up off while my daughter was standing in the sliding door area of our mini-van. The offending poop had fallen out into the parking lot. My husband just left it there.
HELLO!!! If you have to clean-up your dog's poop, you most certainly have to clean up your little human's poop!
He claimed he did not know what to do. So he left it there for me to deal with.
Which is now why my husband only has to hear the word "Birkenstock" and he is reduced to a puddle of laughter and tears. When this happens around other people, he is more than happy to oblige them with the story. His overly dramatic portrayal of how I looked standing there with a confused look on my face and human shit on my shoe always brings the crowd into rip-roaring hysterics
I am still not amused.
