It is amazing how focused you suddenly become on poop when you become a parent. From the moment your baby is born, you count their messy diapers like rare birds, and closely examine the contents for color, size and consistency. Green, frothy poop= bad! Mustardy-seedy poop= hoorray!
After having a baby, talking about poop is no longer taboo.
I even had a conversation with a new dad, at brunch no less, about how his newborn’s poop smelled slightly like roses due to the mama exclusively breastfeeding. (True story, breast milk poops don’t smell as bad as ones from formula, which in my humble opinion is yet another benefit of nursing.)
Today a dear friend/colleague stopped by my office and we had a chat about poop, but not our children’s. We discussed our own irritable bowels.
I shared with her about the miracles of fiber, and she shared her fear of colon-rectal cancer. Closing my office door, she stepped closer to my desk, and we confided in one another about how our intestines often feel tied in knots from the stress of motherhood, work, worrying about money.
You may be shaking your head in disgust, thinking TMI. Or maybe you already stopped reading and clicked over to a pretty travel/photo blog to cleanse your mental palate. I wouldn’t blame you.
But something about my conversation with my pal made me feel great. Relieved, even. (OK, that was a really shitty pun. My apologies. Whoops! I did “it” again. . . )
When I was young, I used to bond with other gal-pals talking about raunchy, sexy exploits. Or make up. Or a hot new restaurant. Or lingerie. Or how amazing those fingers of that new-guitar-player boyfriend were.
Motherhood has changed the subject matter of my conversations. As a mom, I spend so much of my time and energy talking about my kids, pridefully boasting, expressing my concerns about their well-being or my frustrations with their behavior. I rarely get a chance to read or go to the movies, so my commentary on current culture is pretty limited to what I hear on NPR during my morning commute.
Often, I simply don’t get a chance to talk to my lady friends at all. I shy away from talking about myself outside of my role as mother because it seems this all-encompassing identity.
Chatting about twosies felt intimate and self-centered, and reminded me my poop is important too. I guess maybe this is my 40-something equavilant of “girl talk.” Or maybe not. I don’t know. It was a nice, little moment of connection that rang a bell of mindfulness for me, and made me realize I need to touch base with my friends (and myself) a little more often.
And let’s face it, I love any chance to talk about how fiber therapy has changed my life. It just feels like my duty to share.
Have you found you talk about different things as a parent? What are your favorite or most frequent topics of conversation these days?