A poopy post

No, really, this post is going to be all about bodily functions, so if you are squeamish, turn back now.

Seriously, this is your last chance.



Don't say I didn't warn you.

You see, there are two kinds of people in the world. Well, okay there's probably more like 7 billion different kinds of people, but with regards to action and non-action there are only two kinds: Doers and Watchers.  We all know the watchers. They get to have awesome angsty rolls in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but I'm actually talking about the watchers who can only observe--indeed they are incapable of action!

Example:

As a kid, I tortured my mother with all kinds of extra curricular activities. She hated horses; I loved them. I had a pony and that got me a ticket into 4-H (yes, I still know the pledge). One thing that horse groups in 4-H do is ride their horses in parades, and honestly, I don't know why. We line our horses up and walk slowly forward trying to keep our horses in line. These are broken down farm nags, with hanging lips, saggy hocks and swayed backs. It ain't pretty, I'll tell you that. But we loved it, every bit of it--almost. You see, horses aren't nearly so polite as to use the bathroom before we start down the parade route. My pony, Bridgett, had, well, let's just say she was gifted with a bladder to make a long distance racer jealous. And she knew when we were going on a parade. She must have drank for hours the night before to have this kind of-ah-endurance.

Enter hapless bystanders.

Just picture it, a parade on the fourth of july in rural americana. Popcorn, hot dogs, cotton candy, sun and sunscreen, half mown lawn, the works. People sat on the curbs with their feet in the street. The police had been ticketing cars for the week prior to let people know there would be a parade and they couldn't park on the street. Everyone was out in force. The prime seats: the judge stands, that's where all the bands actually play, the trick ropers do their tricks; it is, literally, where the dog and pony show happens. Prime seating would, of course, be as close to the judges stand as possible, and that year was no different.

Because each act has some time to do their little tricks, it means that being in a parade is all about walking forward twenty yards and waiting. twenty yards, then wait, for four miles. It takes a while. And one stop before the judges, Bridgett couldn't hold it any longer.

She peed.

When people talk about a horse pissing on a flat rock in the desert, they don't know the half of it. She peed with such force, it splattered in a five yard radius around her. Right. On. Bystanders. Now, if my family were sitting on the curb of a road and horse pee started splattering onto them, I'd move quickly, get my family out of the way, and start looking for a place to hose off.

But not this family. They were paralyzed into watching. It rained horse piss and they just watched. And it went on FOREVER. Seriously, Bridgett groaned with relief she'd been holding it so long.
As an eight year old, I recall watching the family with their cotton candy melting in the rain of urine and wondering: why are they just sitting there?

That's because I'm a doer. I can't help myself: I must do something.

As a doer, I have certain moments in life where my body springs into action long before conscious thought takes hold. I run from lightning, squeeze through glass apparatii and otherwise have reactions that are purely instinct driven. Including catching.

The poop that an infant makes is incredible. A friend of mine summed it up very well: material by nickolodean, guidance by NASA. In short, it can reach anywhere, and when it does... well, let's just say that I know all about duty duty.

In the middle of a diaper change, my daughter let out a pooper shooter, and my doerness kicked into overdrive. With lightning fast reflexes, I reached right out there and grabbed that poop. Yup, I caught the poop. I almost expected to hear the usual sports crowd taunts/congrats. "Go Mom!" "Nice Hands"

But then reality set in. I had a handful of poop."Way to go Mom!"
Yeah, I can't really recommend that course of action.

So, before you find yourself with a fistful of poo or sitting in a rain of undesirable liquid, know which kind of person you are.