I don’t like poop.

It’s gross. It’s terribly inconvenient. It’s unavoidable. It’s never-ending. It’s unpleasant. It’s embarrassing. It wastes time and water. And don’t get me started on the furry critters who live in our home. They poop, too, and not always where they’re supposed to. For many years I tried not to think about it. A like-minded female friend of mine denies that ladies ever do it. I generally did my best to avoid it.

And then I had children.

Now poop is everywhere. Well, not literally everywhere. Yet. But it’s a very strange thing to be so concerned with the pooping habits of other human beings. When the boys were newborns, we tracked how often they pooped. And the color of the poop. Later Brenden helped us with a diaper study that required us to save his used diapers in individually sealed bags and then deliver them in a giant nasty bag to an office in Dallas, along with recording whether they leaked poop or not. Sometimes their normal diapers leak, too. One time Brenden pooped while I was changing his diaper, possibly the lowlight of my entire life.

Now we’re starting to potty-train Brenden. It’s mind-bogglingly humbling to sit another human being on a toilet and encourage him to poop. I cringe when I think about the future, when he is successful, and I must praise him for pooping. Are you kidding me??

Why did God make us have to poop? Couldn’t there be another way? Think about it. Remember that Mr. Fusion thing from Back to the Future II, the amazing device that could convert everyday trash into enough fuel to power a time machine? Why can’t we work like that? Why can’t we be perfectly efficient furnaces that convert every last molecule of food and drink into usable energy? No mess. No fuss. No sewage-related diseases. No shuffle of shame when you forget to check for TP before ascending the throne. No courtesy flushes, blowouts, liferafts, carefully timed fake coughs, or Poo-pourri.

What a wonderful world this could be.

But until God sees the wisdom of my plan, I guess we’re stuck. I will continue to perform my fatherly duties of keeping my sons as poop-free as possible, all the while praying for a potty-training miracle. Sweet holy moly.