The Poopsmith

Poopsmith /ˈpo͞opˌsmiTH/
(noun)
1. the science and art of making, defeating, and concealing poop
2. my daughter

iBean is a prolific pooper. Not only that, she is now at the age of poop awareness.  Seriously, I think the poop awareness ribbon is brown with flecks of green and yellow, designed by iBean herself.  Just to create awareness out there that YES!  SHE CAN POOP! AND SHE LOVES IT!

She hides behind doors or crouches beside tables when she does her business, and when I look at her and ask her if she just went caca (French for poop), she looks at me with pure pleasure and repeats "TCHA TCHA!"  She even poops in the tub. On a regular basis.  I think it's one of her favourite places to poop.  Maybe it's like giving birth in a pool: less pressure and it just slides right out.  Not that I have ever given birth in a pool.  Or pooped in a pool.  Or bath. So maybe it's not like giving birth at all. Meh.  Just scratch all that.

This morning after breakfast, I lift iBean out of her highchair, only to discover that her diaper had leaked pee through her pajamas.  Her bum, and now my shirt from her bum being pressed against me, are soaking wet.  So I instantly strip her down to her naked-diva-self as I grab a new diaper, clean clothes for Beanerson, and a new shirt for myself.  As much as I like walking around looking like I am permanently lactating, I think I'll go for a fresher look today.

I put on a new NOW-URINE-FREE shirt and go get iBean from the kitchen, where she is wandering around playing with clean dishes in the dishwasher, rearranging my cupboards, being über-helpful in a way only a 15-month-old can.  I bring her to the bedroom and put a new diaper on.  Hmmm.  That's wierd.  There's a bit of poopsmear around her bum hole.  Wow, must be dried on from yesterday, I guess.  Wierdo presto strange-o. Oh well.

iBean gets dressed and races back to the living room to cause general confusion and delay while Tony is trying to get Sashimi dressed for school and I work on convincing Keesadilla that playschool is not full of BAD GUYS and that his friends are not all BAD and STINKY, and YES, Mommy will stay with him for five minutes to play.
Speaking of stinky, Keesadilla pipes up: Mommy, what's that stinky smell?
Me: TONY did you fart?
Tony: No...*look of disbelief crosses everyone's face*...Seriously, I didn't.  I think it's iBean.
Me, checking her bum: Nothing in her diaper, I just changed her.
Keesadilla: Mommy, YOU stink!
Me: No I don't.  I don't smell anything, Keesadilla.
I walk into the kitchen to make myself some breakfast, start slicing up fruit to make a smoothie.  I go to the fridge to get yogurt and see it: 
A PILE OF POOP NUGGETS AND LOGS LEFT AS AN OFFERING IN FRONT OF THE FRIDGE.  As if to say: LOOK MOMMY!  BE PROUD OF ME!  I POOPED ON THE FLOOR SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO WASH ANOTHER DIAPER!

I shout out: OH MANNNNN!  IBEAN!!  You pooped on the floor!!
And our live studio audience bursts out into maniacal laughter, followed by the Poopsmith herself, heaving with red cheeks and flailing her arms about from the sheer hilarity of it: "TCHA TCHA!!!!"

Well, it's not so funny when you have to CLEAN THAT SH*T UP!

Nice try Beanerson.  I'll be more impressed when you TELL me you pooped on the floor.  Wait.  Scratch that.  I'll be more impressed when you tell me you have to poop BEFORE you poop on the floor.  That's better.

Oh well.  I guess that's one less sh*tty diaper I have to wash.  Wait, did I just say that?  Damn.  Well played, Poopsmith.  Well played.

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Oh. Sorry about the profanity, Mom.  But I used an asterisk just for you...love you...