One of the reasons I have been reticent to start blogging again is my fear of becoming one of those MOMS. You know the type. The woman who blogs-and if you meet her on the street, talks- incessantly about the adventures and hardships of being a mom, the trials and tribulations of parenthood and the cute things that her kids say and do. And thats it. No current events, no pop culture, nothing but her kid.
And, of course, their poo.
Now don't get me wrong. There are PLENTY of women out there who are moms who write, and talk, about motherhood and their kids in a new and inspiring way. But they also write, and talk, about other things and don't define themselves solely as a capital M Mom. Sure, they are moms, but they are also writers, actors, businesswomen, wives, partners, creators, lawyers, entrepreneurs and generally nifty people.
Who rarely talk about poo.
I guess for me, the level of obsessive mommyness directly correlates to the amount of poo one refers to in a conversation.
And lately, I have become one of those moms.
The poo moms.
ALL I think, breathe and talk about seems to be my son.
And his poo.
How much, when, colour, frequency, size, smell and above all, staining power.
Who am I? When did this happen?
I used to be an exciting and dynamic woman who was intelligent and witty and could converse on any subject at the drop of a hat!
Now, I catch myself talking to people I have just met about poo.
This has to stop. My husband is starting to stare at me like I am an alien. My friends avoid me. And my son is starting to hide his diapers. And he is only 5.5 months old.
I guess, dear reader, what this posting is telling you is that from henceforth, I resolve to never, ever, EVER, talk about my son's poo.
Unless of course, you really want me to. Or its really interesting.
Which reminds me of this funny thing that happened the other day after he finished his mashed bananas...
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