Let’s talk about you and me, lets talk about all the good things and the bad things that maybe, lets talk about pooh, lets talk about pooh!

*sung to the tune of Salt-n-Pepa’s song Lets Talk About S.E.X.*

*TMI alert stop reading now if you’re squeamish!*

One of the things I never anticipated when becoming a mother was how obsessed I would become with my child’s bowel movements or lack there of, from how often to she pooh’s or doesn’t pooh. I’m an expert and the meanings of pooh textures, colours and smells! My life is governed by her poop schedule. When I arrive home in the afternoon’s, the first thing I ask the nanny is if she’d pooped and how many times she has pooped.

This is not a phase, I’m now two and a half years into being a mother and while the stages of my pooh diary have changed the actual obsession with poop has not!

When Ava was a newborn I was obsessed with the best ways to effectively remove the sticky tar like meconium from her skin.

Then we had the unfortunate incident at Constantiaberg Medi Clinic involving a trip to the emergency room and getting the on call Pead to come and see my newborn babies bowel movement and her meconium switched to normal baby pooh while I held back the tears of shock caused by the yellow, runny goo smeared into her nappy.

Shortly thereafter she began battling with Colic and constipation and I learned all about administering glycerine suppositories, a.n.a.l fissures and compacted constipation.

I lived and breathed for the times when Ava pooped. I’d panic when she didn’t poop, I’d mark off on the calendar when she did poop, the consistency, the colour, how many days in between poops.

I became a pro and applying topical aesthetics and administering suppositories. I learned how to help her in the times when her constipation was so bad she was writhing in pain. How when her constipation became so impacted that she struggled even with a suppository and a dose of Pegicol, making her body stiff and screaming from the pain it caused. I knew how to give her relief.

I have caught pooh’s with my bare hands as they’ve fallen out her bum on the way to the bathroom. I’ve had pooh under my finger nails and on my fingers. I’ve washed down a body covered in pooh more times than I care to remember.

I have gagged and cleaned up when Ava went through a phase of taking a dump in the early hours of the morning and then removing her nappy and dropping a brown steaming cigar on the carpet.

Now we are potty training! Which has gone amazingly well, a couple of accidents but nothing for 5 days and counting. I am very proud of Ava, it’s like something has just clicked! She knows when she wants to use the toilet, we don’t need to ask her if she needs to go to the loo. She will simply announce she needs the toilet and takes herself off to the toilet, even insisting on closing the bathroom door.

Fantastic right?

Well yes, except that she won’t make a pooh in the toilet. In the past week, I’ve gingerly wadded my hand in toilet paper to remove mud balls from her underpants. I have stared into the toilet looking for any evidence of a pooh each time she proudly announces she has pooh’d in the toilet and I have bunched up wads of loo paper and collected little mud parcels off the floor next to the toilet while she loudly exclaims: “Eeeuw Mommy! That’s yukky!”

I am the queen of pooh!  I could never have dreamed in my years of being childless that one day my life would be so governed my pooh!

While motherhood is full of wet kisses, squishy hugs and warm fuzzy’s, it’s also the most unglamorous job I’ve ever had! A total pooh fest!