Being a Parent Really Does Change You

They told you it would happen.  They told me too.

Being a parent will change the way you look at everything.

And sure, there's the way you look at the economy, and the neighborhood you live in, and don't get me started on worrying about public schools or the other idiot kids your child wants to be friends with.

The Lovely Wife and Grayson

Let's start with the basics.

Poop.

It wasn't that long ago that having a conversation about poop was frowned upon in my relationship.  If I ran out from the washroom to let the lovely wife know about the half-footer I unloaded in the toilet, she'd just stare at me as if to say, "Really, and somehow you think you're going to get laid tonight after telling me that?"

I can remember this one time I got in shit from her (pun not intended) because we were at her parent's place for Thanksgiving dinner and I left to go drop a deuce.  I was in the bathroom for, like, fifteen minutes, and apparently it wasn't appropriate for me to do the most basic of bodily functions while all of her aunts, uncles, and cousins were visiting.  Oops.

But here we are, happily married, with two wonderful children - and we often talk about poop.  We keep it a regular conversation.

"Did Ryleigh poop today?"
"Has Grayson pooped yet today?"
"Ooooh, the baby made a smelly poop.  He must be YOUR son."

Heaven forbid I manage to go a few days without changing a dirty diaper.  That's when I'm reminded, by the lovely wife, just how much my six-month old son really loves me, and how he's missed me while I was at work, and how he'd like nothing more than for me to wipe up the smelly poop that has somehow journeyed up to the middle of his back like settlers looking for spices in India.

Ryleigh and me.

We can be at the mall, and Ryleigh - who keep in mind is only four years old - will start a conversation by letting me know about the poop she had the day before.  And sometimes there's no more to the story.  It wasn't an adventure to get the poop out.  Nor was it a freeing experience that inspired a haiku.  Nope.  Simply, "Daddy.. and yesterday I just went poop."  Whoa, surprise ending.

And nowhere is sacred anymore.  If I let a little fart out at the dinner table by accident, I'm condemned to the likes of Hitler, Stalin, and Palpatine.  But just three feet away from me, Grayson grunts and turns his face redder than the devil himself as he fills his diaper with our new dinnertime conversation.  "Oh, somebody's having a big, stinky poop," the lovely wife will say as I shovel another round of mashed potatoes and gravy into my food-hole.  I can't say I blame the boy though, if I were allowed to shit at the dinner table I probably would too - if anything just to see what would happen.

So there you have it.  Poop.  It's what's for dinner.

- ryan