Recently, my brother mentioned that his latest project (he’s an illustrator) involves drawing things that are kind of icky. There is even the possibility that he’ll be sketching some scat. There was an email exchange that featured my mom saying something along the lines of “that’s all fine and good for boys, but a female illustrator could never do that job – it’s against the girl code” That’s a rough interpretation of her quote…
Of course, I argued that I would not have any problem illustrating doo doo and could probably offer a selection of realistic colors to my clients as well. Mom then scoffed at my “rule breaking” tendencies (I don’t know what she’s talking about) and agreed that of all women in the world, I probably could pull this assignment off.
I don’t think my son was in on these communications, especially since he can’t read… but today he set out to prove his mommy right. I definitely DO have first-hand experience with poop, the most recent being today.
Griffin has been learning to use the potty, and he’s doing very, very well with the pee-pee side of things. In fact, yesterday and today he was dry all day at the daycare. So today, when we got home and he was passing a lot of gas, and saying his tummy hurt, I suggested he needed to go sit on the potty and try to poop. He argued that he only needed to “toot”, and I let it go. Fifteen minutes or so later my daughter came to tell me there was a disaster in the bathroom. Uh oh.
Griffin had apparently decided to take it upon himself to go potty on his own, and instead of getting it in the toilet, it landed on the floor. I’ll let you imagine the result – you don’t need the graphic details. Gotta love parenthood. It’s an endless source of experiential fodder for writing and drawing projects.