What is poop made up of?
Why do we poop?
Why is my poop pink in colour?
From where do birds and snakes poop?
What happens to poop after we poop?
My twin daughters have a number of enlightened discussions with me and one of them revolves around poop.
I understand that the curiosity of a child must be fulfilled. One of my daughters’ favourite subjects is poop and I try to ensure that I answer all their questions, – to the best of my googling capabilities. As they are twins, we have twice the number of occasions to delve into the fascinating world of poop and pee.
The girls know that poop is made up of 75% water and that their pee is made up of 95% water. With the help of Google, they have been introduced to the rest of the constituents also. They have been very keen to know how poop gets made. So, they have seen Youtube videos of small and large intestines and all that happens along the way.
We have a pet love-bird and a pet fish at home. At times, the girls stare them down for a considerable amount of time to check out how they poop. They don’t want to miss any action. Of course, they are learning to be patient and observe. But I do strongly feel the pressing need for teaching them to respect the privacy of everybody around.
Whenever they have beetroot, they eagerly look forward to their poop the next day. They are extremely fascinated by the fact that eating beetroots lends a pink hue to their poop. The girls’ overbearing excitement at meal times and their colourful anticipation of the next day’s output make it nauseating enough for their mother to let go of her meal. And I have to take the blame for her going empty stomach. Some reward for encouraging a child’s inquisitiveness.
The girls have learnt the Finger Family Nursery Rhyme and somehow they have connected it with their poop. So, when they poop, basis the size, they identify them as members of the poop family. And when the quantity is less, they sadly announce that their family has remained incomplete. Imagine there could even be such a practical way of teaching nursery rhymes!
The girls have been on Iron supplements on and off. During these episodes, their poop is black and hard. They get enthralled, as they see it as a welcome change from their routine daily output.
If they don’t poop for a day or if their pee is yellow, they know the course to be followed – eat bananas and drink lots of water.
The minute they realise that either of us is in the washroom, they stand and start asking us as to what we are up to, how is it going, how much did we poop – a repeat of all that we tell them when they are into their own process. So, yes, it feels great that they understand every bit of it but the role-playing at times just goes too far!!!
The girls love their poop and we are fond of discussing it, as and when they feel like. And this happens very often. Nothing gross at all – it is all about good health and my daughters will vouch for that. These are the little moments of our life.
We are a three-member potty club, open for memberships.
One potty incident.
When the girls were around two and a half years old, not sufficiently potty-trained and still in diapers, we had gone to a children’s playhouse.
The care-taker noticed some poop on the play-mat and asked me to clean it. I have been cleaning the poop of my daughters and knew that what was on the floor was not theirs. I asked my daughters – both said that they did not do and their diapers were also empty. The owner of the play-house lectured me on putting diapers properly and asked me to act responsibly.
Anyways, I cursed my luck and cleaned up the potty. After coming out of the washroom, I saw a 7-8-year-old boy standing outside, wearing a night-suit and there was potty below his pyjamas. Realizing that the boy was doing potty standing outside and what I cleaned had an eerie similarity to what that boy was doing, I asked the boy about the place of his earlier relief and he showed me the place where I had cleaned up. I called the owner, showed him what was down and the boy. No apologies whatsoever, he just walked off to call the father of the boy.
I had no interest in whatever happened further. I left with my daughters, never to return to the play-house again.
S*IT happens in life.