Actually, I am thinking dirtier. Today I realized that at 31 years old, I am just as fascinated with poo as I was as a toddler. I read somewhere that between ages 1 and 2, we all discover the miracle of our own poo. The process of potty training increases our interest, although at that time children learn that poo is not good, but dirty. Some people are taught shame during potty training, which I think haunts them for life.
Today I am voicing what no one else wants to admit. Poo is a really cool thing. No, it is not cool in a sick or twisted way. I don't even like movies with stupid bathroom humor. As soon as I am done with my business, I flush everthing away just like everyone else and then use my scented soap to make it seem as if I never pooed in the first place. After all, women aren't supposed to have any gross bodily functions, right?
I am talking about that split second when we stand over our toilets and look in fascination. This happens for me after a significantly large movement. How did that just come out of my body? I was walking around with that inside me just five minutes ago and suddenly, there it is! Should I weigh myself and see if I lost any weight? Are my organs now rearranging themselves with all of that extra space inside of me?
Because we are civilized, poo is not a part of our everyday conversation. I am glad for this. We should continue to ask "how are you?" and not "how was your poo this morning?."
That doesn't change that fact that at least once a day, we revert to our toddler selves and stand in awe of what our bodies can do. If it is an especially amazing day, our personal poo encounters may come to mind hours later. We smile to ourselves.
A measure of the quality of your relationships is whether or not you have someone to help you celebrate an especially awesome poo. Deep friends do this now and then. People in nursing homes brag about it regularly. Proper southern women suppress their poo celebrations, which is why I think that they are so judgemental and spend so much time baking pound cakes (which, ironically produces a lot of poo). Lonely people have no one to tell about their poo.
We are all thinking about poo. We are all amazed by it, even if only for a second or two. I find joy in friendships that allow space for a good poo celebration.
I hope that you, too, have poo-worthy friends. After all, your body is a miracle. Someone should love you enough to listen, make a face, and roll their eyes. A true friend will compare it to their poo or ask what you had to eat. Everyone deserves that kind of love!
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