As I posted Friday, I had to take Joshua to the pediatrician because of a mysterious stomach ailment. The pediatrician asked about a million questions and then said he needed more information, so he asked me to keep a poop and food diary on Joshua for two weeks.
That’s right, for the next two weeks, I have to look at Joshua’s poop and write down my observations about it’s size, color, consistency, etc.
I love being a mom. Really, this is the stuff I’ve always dreamed about.
But back to the asking a million questions part. The doctor asked Joshua many, many questions that ended in the word, “poop”.
Does it hurt when you poop?
When you’re eating, do you feel like you have to poop?
Is there any blood on the toilet paper when you poop?
PoopPoopPoopPoopPoopPoopPoop?
Seriously, after the first question, it was all I could do to not burst out in an ugly, raspberry-esque hysterical laughter. I had to bite the inside of my mouth and stare down at the top of my son’s head to keep from losing control.
Because there’s something about a learn-ed M.D. saying the word “poop” over and over that brings me to the basest level of immaturity possible.
I couldn’t breathe for a full 30 seconds after he’d said his last “poop” for fear of losing it. And, since I’ve made a fool of myself in front of this doctor over bowel movements before, I really did not want to lose control.
But I was thisclose.
So, I think my much more solemn and mature husband should attend the follow-up appointment, don’t you? Because since it is going to involve careful examination of aforementioned poop diary, I don’t think I can be trusted to hold it together.
What makes you giggle like a pre-adolescent boy?
(P.S. – POOP!!!! Made ya laugh!)
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