It’s funny, poop. But why? It’s one of those things that’s only funny in the abstract. For instance, it’s funny to say the word poop (including its derivatives), but when it’s experienced live and in person, it’s quite nasty. Decidedly unfunny. Categorically serious.
I don’t know why, either. You’d think we would learn from experience that poop is not a thing to be trifled with. Witness the heady fumes of any memorable encounter with it, especially post-beef-stew-and-hot-sauce-with-extra-garlic dinner, and you wonder why we think it’s funny. One would think that the mind would declare a moratorium on the poop jokes, actually. That goes for the phrase, “the morning after” as well, which, when one has indulged (and I use this word in its most vague and flippant sense) in Taco Bell at any time the day previous, is positively abhorrent in every way.
But potty training pierces the veil. There’s nothing, nothing at all quite like standing a child in the bathtub fully clothed, fully loaded, sans diaper. People, there is nothing that can prepare you for this. Parenthood is one hundred percent OJT. Things you swore you’d never do, you do. Because some things you just can’t call home about. Not unless you want to temporarily lose the hearing in one ear (your phone ear) from the high volume cackling laughter of your mother. If you love her, you won’t. She may not recover from her fit of mirth for days. And all she’ll be able to enunciate will be a hissing, wheezing, “Prayed for this day to come, aaaaahhhhh-hahahahahahahaha.”
Yes. Poop is hilarious, isn’t it? It’s always fun until someone gets hurt. Or until daddy or mommy needs a half hour to bleach the bathroom again, starting with that tub. So go play, child. Laugh at your farts and how stinky they are. Learn how to play that mysterious game they call “Blue Darts.” And occasionally crap your pants accidentally, just a little bit, because it’s unavoidable and part of life. Especially because of Taco Bell. And laugh your head off about all of it. Because one day, like me, you will have little people in your house making puddles on the carpets and dropping stink bombs in inconvenient and antisocial locations. And I shall hiss with laughter. Because then, poop will be funny. Funny for me, precisely because it’s so very unfunny for you.