Poop

During the course of our discussing starting a family, Stef and I have had many amusing chats about babies. The most amusing conversation of late has been about the defecation habits of children, and the logistics of where diapers go when they are soiled. I happen to be of the opinion that poop belongs in only one place: the septic tank. Poop does not belong in a trash-can in my bathroom. I have no problem with wiping the kid’s ass till he or she is old enough to do so themselves but the diapers are not staying inside my house. What’s my solution then? Well I think you’ll be amazed at how simple it is.

My solution is that when a kid makes that “I’m gonna take a dump” face you hurry them to the nearest bathroom, tear off their underpants and hold them over the toilet. Simple huh? Isn’t that such an easy plan to alleviate this problem? Why haven’t people thought of this sooner? I mean, I feel a little bit silly telling you about it here when I could go out and write a book and do the interview circuit and make some money on the idea first, but I’ve always been one to share and I figured I owed it to you, my loyal readers.

In all seriousness though, I want to have children sooner rather than later and the only serious reservation I have about a little tyke running around the apartment is having to store diapers in our poorly ventilated bathroom. This bathroom already reeks after one of us relieves ourself and that shit is gone from the room as quickly as it enters it. Just think about how bad it would smell if there was crap stored in their on a semi-permanent basis. The thought makes me a little queasy.

But I don’t want anyone to think I’m uneasy about the actual process of changing diapers or cleaning the baby. I know from experience what happens when the father removes himself from that process. I have been told on many occasions how I was in diapers far beyond the normal age because of my father’s noninvolvement with my waste. I don’t want that to happen to my kid. My only concern is where I put the shit once I’m done wiping it up.

Stef also thinks it’s weird that I refuse to pee in front of my child. She wonders how a son would learn without learning by example. I try to explain that it’s a simple matter of physics and of pointing and shooting. I don’t have to whip my dick out in front of my kid to teach him where to aim. I don’t need my child suing me for sexual abuse eighteen years down the line cause I whipped out my penis in front of him when he was a baby.

Actually… I probably wouldn’t have to worry about that so much as the humiliation of the kid asking me, “Hey Daddy, why’s mine bigger than yours?”

Anyway, this is just one of the many concerns we’ll have to address before the stork starts circling the neighboorhood. We also have to deal with my potty mouth, and my shitty sense of fashion (we don’t want me dressing a child now, do we?) and…

Is it strange that all of our concerns revolve around feces?