Super Pooper

Renowned psychiatrist, Sigmund Freud pioneered the psychoanalytic method of psychiatry. While it is his theory on the subconscious mind and his Oedipus complex that keeps his name buzzing in Psychology and English classrooms, it is his theory on poop that makes him a relevant addition to this blog. Freud contended that there was a connection between sexual experiences and defecation when we are babies. This leads me to believe one of two things. First, Freud really enjoyed taking poops. In fact, he was such a fan of "popping a squat" that he just knew in his heart there was more to the 15 minutes of pleasure spent passing his waste and gas. Second, Freud never watched a baby grunt and cry in pain when trying to soil a diaper.

Poop has never been the topic of polite conversation. We teach our children to associate our bathroom activities with numbers (#1 or #2). Even men work hard to believe that women are the only creatures on this Earth that do not poop. Personally, I find the good ol' #2 to be a great form of stress relief. Who wouldn't want to spend 15 minutes in a bathroom flipping through a magazine just to walk out half a pound lighter? However, there are times when I do not appreciate defecation (particularly when it is not mine).

It was a morning like any other. Each morning like clockwork, Sean starts his day with a big poop. As I watched Sean squirm and grunt, I felt sorry for the little guy. "They will get easier," I reassured him. I lifted his legs to assist him. Soon, the glorious sound of poop filling his diaper rang in the room. Half asleep, I laid there watching him, secretly congratulating him on his victory. Suddenly, Sean began to spit up. He choked and gasped. I immediately rolled him over to his side. I patted his back while he recovered. Once the look of alarm left his face, I picked him up and sat him on my lap so I could clean his face and neck. He looked up at me. His eyes were big and glossy. It was almost like he was thanking me. In that moment, I was his hero. His eyes told me how much he loved me and appreciated me coming to his rescue. I smiled at him and told him I loved him. I watched his eyes grow bigger. He started to grunt. The smile slowly left my face as I felt something warm rolling down my thigh. I looked down... There it was. The slime that is my son's poop. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" I shouted. I picked up Sean and raced him to the changing table attached to his Pack-n-Play. I watched as my son's enemy invaded my pillowcase, my sheets and my by-standing blankets. His diaper did nothing to protect us. I almost forgot there was an army of poop making its way down my leg at that very moment. I raced to the bathroom and defeated the stinky invader. I could hear Sean exploding another army out of his butt while he laid on the changing table. When all was quiet and I was sure it was safe, I gave Sean a bath. (His feet and part of his leg were covered in poop, after all.) After his bath, I secured a new diaper on him. I looked across the room at my poor sheets and blankets. What was once a safe haven for warmth and comfort was now a big baby wipe. I looked back at my son."I am so going to write a blog about this," I told him.
He smiled and let out a small chuckle.
That chuckle made it all worth it.