On poop

Picture of diaper changing station sign


It’s time to talk about poop.  So if you don’t have kids, you might want to skip this one.  It might keep you from having kids.

For everyone else, I’ve got one question.

Why do baby boys do what they do?

Did you know about this already? I don’t think I got the memo.  They seem to have neglected mentioning this to me at the hospital with the kids.

It’s three a.m. and  I’m only partially awake.  But I know the routine.  Pick him up.  Get a fresh diaper, holding at a 45-degree angle from his crotch to catch… accidents.  Take off the dirty diaper.  Wipe.  Start to put the new diaper on.

But then it happens.  A little “toot” sound made by a small bubble of gas escaping gives you about a half-second warning.

WHOA! Easy there, boy… as I back up. It comes shooting out at me like some evil yellow fountain, sort of like a mustard bottle in attack mode.

So I remove the clean diaper.  Wipe again.

But there’s one problem.

I forgot about the other end.

Now I don’t recall having anything even close to this sort of trouble with my first daughter.  I’m certain her diapers were not lavender-scented sachets of joy.  But I don’t remember being attacked by the stuff in the same way my boy does.

Why do boys do this?  Every time I mention this to parents of boys, they just sort of smile and nod.  “Boys are different,” one mother told me.

Are we genetically hard-wired to do this?  Is this some sort of evil parental preparation for when they go to play in the mud?

Answers, please.


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