Pooped

In my first two weeks as a father, I'm quickly discovering that men and women react quite differently upon hearing the news that I'm a new dad.  Women want to see pictures, oohing and ahhing over the baby while asking how mom is recovering.  Men usually just start handing out advice.  And by advice I mean telling a good poop story.

Dads of all ages will tell a poop anecdote as if it were an epic adventure, leaving nothing to question when it comes to details.  With a twinkle in the eye, they fondly relive their baby days, swelling with pride as they recall their son's stream of pee hitting them in the face or how they went to work wearing a poop stained shirt. 

The stories may vary, but almost always included is the color, texture, and size of what they found in a diaper.   

A poop story brings fathers together like little else.  We may not like the same sports teams or agree politically, but we all have a go to poop joke. 

"So there I was, fresh out of diapers with nothing but a tube sock and some duct tape."

“Oh, that’s nothing, one time junior got into some leftover Mexican food, it peeled the paint right off the hood of the car..."

“Did I ever tell you about the time little Cindi puked in my mouth?”

“We had to hose Aiden down in the backyard; you’ve never smelled anything like it in your entire life!”

"Somebody called the fire department, they wouldn't come near it!"

Maybe it's just how we communicate.  A poop story is a father's way of saying, I was there at three in the morning, or I wiped that kid's butt and now he's in college.  The time flies I'm told, so as I complain about the rigors of my new job I should keep in mind the looks on those father's faces as they laugh and reminisce about late night diaper changes, crying babies, and of course, poop.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a diaper to go change...