Of Poop, Parenthood And The Legal Profession.
Mood:  cheeky
Topic: Poop
So Ben was just talking on the phone to one of his friends (well, okay, his stupid buddies I generally call them), and apparently he's still traumatized from a poopy diaper of Matt's he changed a few days ago. It was a really bad one. I wasn't there, but I knew it was bad, because I could hear Ben saying "Oh man! Oh mannnn!" from upstairs.

He said, "For the next hour, I could still smell that poop! There must have been shit molecules in my nose hairs." Yes, honey, that's right. Furthermore, Sam at three years, three months is still nowhere near toilet trained and has never pooped in the potty. Changing him, I explained one day that it was just too disgusting and he needs to get trained, but does that impress a three-year-old? Answer: It does not. Not one tiny bit.

It made us think, though: Our entire lives are spent dealing with poop in one form or another. We are both in the legal profession (he is an attorney, I'm a paralegal), and that profession consists mostly of people pooping upon each other, if you want to cut to the chase; I mean, it's that adversarial.

Ben puts it this way: "I open my mail every day, and every envelope has a pile of turds in it. And then I take an envelope, and take a big grunt in it, and mail it right back. And the phone rings, and I pick it up, and a big turd squirts out the phone and right into my ear. So I put the phone to my ass, and take a big grunt right back into the phone at them. And then we appear in court, and everyone flings feces at each other until the judge makes a ruling." Nice, huh? How did otherwise nice people end up in a profession like this? Because someone told us it was an honorable profession, that's why.

Legal careers and parenthood: No one ever tells you about the poop. My God, so much poop.