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Pooped Parent

Blog

The Ups, Downs and Sideways of Working Motherhood

Pooped Parent

Alex Steinman

I boarded my flight home from Denver on Monday night with two McDonald's cheeseburgers and a large fry in hand. I am the worst travel companion right now because I eat like a pregnant T-Rex, and I encourage and enable those around me. I've eaten at least four roast beef sandwiches and a couple burgers in the last week. People in my radius, prepare to gain some sympathy weight. Anyways, I walk on the flight smelling like diabetes when I get a text from Matt: Why? Why are you always gone when your son has a new poop experience?! God damn it! Call me after you have eaten, you don't want to hear the story before dinner... See Dad of the Century for the first incident.

I decide not to respond, so I can enjoy my meat patties in peace.

So, now you've been warned.

First of all, why is Poopy Coopy all of a sudden my son? He looks more like Matt than me, and I'm fairly certain facial features determine the digestive track.

Apparently during bath time, #Gingerbaby started making the poop face. Parents know it well. Concentrated eyes, holding of the breath, contorted face muscles, clenched fists, tiny grunt.

"No no no no!" Thought #Gingerdad, who's instinct was to pull Cooper out of the giant tub toilet and stand him up on the tile. He reached for a wad of toilet paper to catch the turd like an outfielder catching a poop fly.

Then, after a series of negotiating with the toddler and the head shaking reassurance that he was all done, it started again. This time Matt's ninja-dad reflexes got the better of him, and he reached his bare hand out underneath the #Gingerbooty.

It must have been a knee jerk reaction, and perhaps I would have done the same thing. I do not pretend to understand the logic of holding our son's poop, though we now have both experienced this in the worst ways.

It didn't occur to Matt that this may have been the perfect potty training opportunity until he was holding the tiny log. God bless him.

I'm sure glad Cooper chose Matt as the primary poop parent. May our second child be just as picky and select dad as the handler.