A Crapload of Lessons

My nine-month-old boy drew a painting on the floor today, albeit a crappy one (no, literally, it was drawn entirely out of crap). It was quite a masterpiece, really. Other kids draw with crayons, but mine prefers a more organic alternative.

Lesson 1. Do not leave crap lying around

You’d think I know this by now, considering the number of times my mom has told me, ” Don’t leave your crap lying around”. Now, if I just listened to my mom, I would not be scraping crap off my hardwood floor.

We were already running late, and I was scrambling to get my little Picasso all changed and ready. I didn’t think much about it at that time, and I just left his soiled diaper on the floor, meaning to throw it after I got myself ready. Somehow, in the 10 minutes I took to bathe and change, Tru managed to unwrap the diaper, dig out a whole load of crap and smear it all over the bedroom floor.

Lesson 2. Boys are drawn to crap (hence, refer to lesson 1)

This lesson into the male psyche is not just meant for mothers. As long as you are in regular contact with a boy/man/dude/guy, you’d do well to remember this. After some extensive research, I’ve come to the conclusion that men are naturally drawn to crap and its variants (faeces, boogers, ear wax). I suspect it’s the texture, or their unusually high tolerance for funky odors, or simply their primal masculine instinct.

I haven’t heard of a girl playing with poop before, but plenty of boys have valiantly braved the way into the wonderful world of crap. I have a friend whose son ate dog droppings, another one who meticulously covered his cot with his own droppings, and yet another who dissected someone else’s droppings in the name of science, to find out what it was made of.

And if you pay enough attention, you’ll probably notice male counterparts rolling up their boogers and flicking it or picking at dirt from between their toes and playing with it. Some things don’t change.

Lesson 3. Learn to laugh at crap

So, back to the story. I stood in awe at the work of art that was laid before me for a whole minute before I knew how to react. I could either shriek and throw a hissy fit (tempting as it seemed), or throw my head back and laugh at the absurdity of the situation. I chose the latter, mostly because it was far less likely to give me hemorrhoids, and because I knew that if I didn’t learn to laugh, I’d probably come to resent these little moments which make motherhood the lovely adventure that it is.