I would soil myself with genuine poo—just to get a big ol’ laugh out of you.

We’re almost at the other end (end!) of Henry’s Adventures in Pooping—we made it through the rapids, and now we’re wading through the occasional runlet. I just really wanted to say "runlet." Runlet! There!

You know (she writes, introducing her Theme for the Day), I used to think there was some way, when my child got sick, that I could avoid catching it. I’ll just wash my hands, I thought! Why don't other people think of that! I’ll wash and wash--and wash some more. Obviously!

This morning, after I changed Henry for the 3rd time, I continued to smell poop. I looked in Henry’s diaper, which fresh and new as a spring morning. So I looked on my hands. Nope. My shirt. Relatively unsoiled. The poop smell lingered—it was as if there was poop right under my nose. But of course we all know there was no poop there, because a poop mustache would be too much insult to endure. (Insert your "Dirty Sanchez" joke here. You know you want to. You filthy, filthy thing.)

No, the poop was not under my nose. No. It was on my nose.

I glanced in the mirror, and there! Right on the tip of my nose! Poop! Why am I admitting this in a public forum? It was only a dab. But isn’t that enough? How much poop can a person allow to sit on their nose before they flee their home in horror and disgust? How did it get there? I’ve been washing and washing with all the paranoid vigor that I imagined before I had this child, and yet somehow it managed to evade me, to travel up from my hands all the way to the center of my face.

My point is, once the poop has made it to your nose, you’re pretty much doomed. I am doomed. Unless the Birthday Fairies see fit to spare me from the sickness.

Gasp in amazement at how subtly I mention that it’s my birthday! Why do you think I’m linking to flattering pictures of myself and practically begging for reassurance that I’m not as old and haggard as I feel? I’m transparent. And 35. Thirty-five. Thirty. Five. I’m not sure I’m so happy about this turn of events. But there’s nothing I can do about it—the alternatives are so much less appealing. Anyway, it’s there already, like the poop on the end of my nose. No matter how I scrub and scrub.

Comments

[Rita]

Happy birthday! Don't feel bad. You'll be forty in five years, and then you'll think, "Oh, how silly I was to feel old at thirty-five. I was so YOUNG!" Kind of like when you think you were fat in collge, then you look back at the photos of you holding six beers in one hand and a clove in the other, wearing nothing but shorts and a Grateful Dead t-shirt, and you think: "I was HOT in college - why the hell did I think I was fat?"

Savor the moment.

[Angela]

Funny. I was JUST reading that rubbing poop on your nose takes, like, ten years off the face. In other words, you don't look a day over 25!

I hope you have a very non-poopy birthday!

[Melissa S]

Let's stop for a moment and thank God you didn't go out in public with poop on your nose! Just imagine.

Just last week I had poop on me (a disastrous attempt at using the potty....not me, my 3 year old....and yes, he's 3 and still making disastrous attempts to use the potty) and as I stood there cleaning up I felt so utterly deflated as a human being.

It was a definite low point in my mothering life. But you, you handled it with such grace...and on your birthday no less!

Happy Birthday!

[sac]

Life beings at 35. No, actually that's not true, by 35 years. But still, at least you're not 36. Now THAT'S old.

[Helene]

I owuld consider the poop on your nose thing a lucky birthday blessing - kinda like how the some African tribes consdier bird droppings on thier head as a sign of being blessed by the gods :) Happy Birthday BTW

[dr. dave]

I felt sorry for you until I read your last batch of comments. Now I consider the nosepoop as fitting payback for being called "hot" by Mimi Smartypants. Nobody deserves it that good, not even on their birthday.

(I turn 35 this year too. It's it great to Hurt-All-The-Time?? Or is it just me?)

D.

[Patricia]

35 sounds pretty good to this 43 year old. And, you do look wonderful - how adorably cute can a person be?!? I love your hair!

Poop on the nose. I can't say I've been there but I have had it under my fingernails. Ewwww!

[jilbur]

Forty is here to tell you: 35 is chickadee young 'n' pretty. Particularly when it's you.

Enjoy your birthday. Hoopla! Excitement! Someone else doing the dishes! you know--the whole nine yards.

[Carrie]

Happy Birthday! I don't see a picture, but I'm sure you look great. I had a crisis of spirit this year when I turned 30. Still makes me cringe to have to say I'm in my 30s.

[mermer]

I've never commented before, but had to because May 28th was MY birthday too!! But I'm an ancient 39 and 9 months pregnant (#3) to boot, so I not only feel old, but fat and ugly too. I think I'll feel young again as soon as my house loses that sticky epidermis that comes with youngin's. Enjoy!

[Miel]

Aaaahhhh...can't get over the poop part.

But happy birthday! I'd sure like to believe that 35 is young. In fact, this is what I choose to believe.

And at least you went 35 years without getting poop on your nose. Or your post implies that. And that's something!

[Summer]

1. Happy birthday (a little late, but I hope it was good clean fun for the rest of the day)

2. You are lovely, and 35 is a dandy age to be. Why, you're a young'un compared to all the former castmembers of "Friends", and they stayed 27 forever!

3. I can't top the poop on the nose, but on Sunday morning my husband kindly let me sleep in, only to wake me at 9 to request assistance. The babyman had taken a poop on the floor of his bedroom, and I had to clean it up. It was on the foam alphabet mat. On the X. X marks the poop. My son must have remarkable aim, as well as an advanced sense of humor for a 16 month old.

4. I hope you didn't get sick. Having the goopy poopies is no way to spend a birthday.

[the mighty jimbo]

consider it a little smelly reminder of how much you love your son.

[raoul]

Happy birthday!

You've gotten married and had a child by 35. I'm 37 with neither wife, nor child, nor propects for either. Pathetic, I know. So count your (poopy) blessings; there's always somebody worse off.

[debl]

So, now that it's been a few days after The Incident, you HAVE to tell us if you were felled by the poop sickness.

[alice]

I am happy to report that I won this round in the first of what I'm sure will be many Battles With Intestinal Badness.

[Not Gonna Say]

I'm a regular reader, going pseudonymous because of the embarassing out-of-character impropriety of what I'm about to say.

I looked at the picture. You're *very* cute.
Thirty-five, Shmirty-five. Who cares. You look good.

Mmmm. Finslippy.

[Christie]

OH MY GOD THE POOP. I flip out when there's poop on my knuckle, from an unfortunately uncoordinated brush of the wipe. Oh, lets face it, I flip out when the wipe tumbles off the diaper ONTO THE CARPET and OH MY GOD THE POOP ON THE CARPET!! Poop on your nose is just...not.

Happy Birthday, by the way. From my daughter who just ran into the desk two times in a row. Now there's a girl that'll poop on your nose.

[Rubber-Sol]

Very funny stuff here! I'll be back again!

Happy Birthday!

[aurora]

happy birthday! today is mine!
i am a huge fan of poop stories!
i've begun chronicalling my 14 month old's adventures in scatology. funny how poop unites us all.

[littlemiss]

Cute! My kids are 17 and 10...but boy, do-I-remember-those days! I'm 38 1/2, but am often mistaken as my 17-year-old's sister..hee-hee-hee! No, I'm the Mummy! I have to say...

LittleMissCantBeWrongEver!

[dayment]

Happy birthday!
And be happy that your man didn't come home at that moment to kiss you hello.

[Jake]

That sound you hear is me laughing so hard that POOP IS COMING OUT MY NOSE. Or is that milk?

Just for the record, I'm 36. And though you have youth on your side, I can safely say I've made it this far without ever getting poop on my face.