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I walked out of my room this morning, half asleep, two of my three children whining for some thing or another and step on something squishy.

I'll give you two guesses. And a clue. Check the title of the post.

How the heck did poop get in my hallway? Seriously, I am asking! Any clue?

NO?

Hmm - me neither!

The only thing I could think, while wiping my foot off and cursing in my best g language available, is that after I removed my baby's diaper this morning, and let her run off butt naked through the house while I pulled the blanket back over my head, she laid a log right there on the floor. As a present really. To start my day. Because she loves me so much.

While holding her down to diaper and prevent another surprise during the day, it occurred to me that I have a lot of poop in my life. And have, since the day my oldest daughter was born.

First there was the all important wait for meconium to be had. Once she produced it, it never ended. From blow outs all over me, my couches, my floors, the crib, my bed, the car seat, the high chair, the bath tub, etc. to the constipation and pain of trying to get her to go.

Add another child, add more poop.

And yet another child and the poop in my life is overwhelming.

I thought it would end as I potty trained. But no. Now I have to come "see" the poop. Meet it. Wish is a safe trip down the potty and listen to it be counted and analyzed.

"Oooh, Mommy. That's a big poo poo!"

"Look Mom. I have one, two, three poo poos."

"Mama, I have diaree- a!"

I am fascinated by their fascination. I wonder, would my husband think it interesting for me to call him in to see mine?

"Look, honey, it's a family."

I mean, gross, right?

I wonder when it will end. The poop parade. The cleaning it. The smelling it. The blocking of the images in my head.

And I wonder if I will miss it. These days where poop is all consuming.

I really doubt it.

Poop.

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