Kejamaca!

As a little girl you dream of many things. You play with your dolls and dream of becoming a mother, you dance at your ballet recital and dream of becoming a ballerina, your parents get you a puppy and you dream of becoming a veterinarian. Never in all my wildest dreams did I think that my future would one day revolve around other peoples poop.

Dogs - they need to poop, and they need you to help them do it in the right place at the right time. I have two dogs, twice the poop. If I'm not coaxing them to "go potty outside" I'm cleaning up the potty inside.

My Husband - thankfully he does not need my assistance. He does, however, require my admiration of his lengthy toilet battles. What is it about men, the toilet, and a magazine subscription that elicits such sighs and grunts of joy and relief? I swear that the male digestive system is an entirely different mechanism than the female version.

My Daughter - she's three months old, poops twice a day. If I'm lucky, it's while the nanny is with her. But even then, I can not escape the poop - because if I don't know when and what she pooped I don't know if she's sick or having a unidentified baby issue. So I have to ask who ever was lucky enough to witness the poop all sorts of unpleasant questions. When else would it be appropriate to ask another grown woman "Would you say the poop is more like a milk shake or more like watery bird seed?"

Now you have the full meaning of the title of this blog.