The lovely and talented Muffy over at Karmadgeon was right. A few months ago, I teased her about her occasional sharing of things bowel related over at her blog. I told her that it was a practice in writing that one would never find over here at Chez Bez. She told me that it was just a matter of time.
Mind you, it's not necessarily a blog killer to discuss what I consider to be about as yucky as yucky gets (Dooce shares her stories of constipation among family members and wouldn't we all like to have her fame and recognition?), but it just "ain't me, babe."
However, some domestic dialogue just begs to be blogged:
The potty trained child is whining that he doesn't want to go poop. He cries out that there "is no poop in my body," but I place him upon the potty anyway. I leave him to his protests and urge him to just sit there and try. I go into the other room and make eye contact with my wife. We are all too familiar with this scenario and it is so exhausting but necessary.
Not five minutes later, he calls from the bathroom with a voice reminiscent of Christmas morning's joy. "Hey Daddy, come here. It's the biggest poop ever. Look!"
From denial to pride in such short time. The book is right. Everybody does poop. And everybody's happy.