Scatalogically Speaking: Which End Are You?
My daughter coined a new phrase this week: Bloop. As in "I just blooped". What is that? I asked.
It is barf coming out of my bum.
Oh.
And that’s the kind of week it’s been here in chaos. Jenna got hit with a relatively mild case of the gastro bug that is going around. Started with a fever and stomach ache and then the rallying cry: “I am going to barf” just as the projectile liquid hit the floor. There were many, many cleansing baths and then some more baths before she was even dried off. But as any parent who has spent a week with every family member logging hours on the bathroom floor can tell you; having only one person with the stomach flu is getting off easy. (And I really hope I am not tempting the fates by writing that down.)
Stop reading here if you get squeamish because this post is going down the literal toilet from here.
My husband and I have a theory, some people are puke people and some people are poo people. Not that anyone likes to deal with either situation. But it seems that many people have a stronger adverse reaction to the output of one end or the other.
Personally, I find vomit beyond vile.My husband is able to catch puke with his bare hands, rush a child to a toilet and hold back the hair in one fell swoop. I, however, inadvertently jump backwards and screech whenever a potential puke is about to happen.
One of my labour nurses said that labour nurses are defined by their fear of above the belt secretions but they honestly don’t mind anything that comes from the pelvic region.
But when it comes to poo (which, let’s be honest is a much more common occurrence) I am the one that handles it. When I hear a panicked “Hoonnney!”emanating from the washroom I know that there is a nasty accident waiting to be cleaned up, laundered and bathed. But to clarify, my husband was great at changing diapers, it’s just when the poop started becoming more human-sized that he couldn’t handle it.
I have a girlfriend also hates Number 2, which is hilarious because she has two kids, two cats and a dog, her life and house is filled with feces.
My kids are well versed in their parents’ aversions; in the middle of the night when they feel the vomit rising, they know who to call. But when a child drops a small toy into the can, or when the toilet is clogged – I am the hero.
Since a bad case of stomach flu usually involves all orifices leaking there really isn't any way to get around dealing with the grosser side of life. But everyone likes a funny pooping story. How else to explain the glee of my neighbour recounting her son's bout with stomach flu on a ski weekend. "It was in his toenails!" she yelled with abandon on the schoolyard. We were disgusted but we laughed. And then we all secretly worried that we were next. In fact, I think I feel a bit nauseous right now.
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