Last night I dreamt about Jenny McCarthy, Mom, actress, author, child health and safety activist and advocate and funny, funny lady. Men who dream about Jenny get the sexy part. Women who dream about her might be looking for hair or makeup tips, or info on how to help their children. Most women, that is. Me? We compared poop.
I was a party at Jenny's house. She was not there. I had to use the bathroom and I snuck away to her bathroom for privacy - and I think to run away from my children for a moment. Now, if you are like me (and most women, I'm convinced) pooping is reserved for the home field. Pooping in public places is verboten. The newswoman on Howard Stern Lisa G admitted to pooping at work occasionally and the team immediately came up with an intro song for her that sounds all proper and newlike except the lyrics are "Lisa G Take Shits at Worrrrrrrk."
There is a product selling like gangbusters to address this tissue issue - check it out, it's called Poo Pourri. I kid you not. Mark knows the woman who invented it. It's essential oils you spray onto the toilet water before using the toilet. People think you just crapped an orange when you leave the stall.
So, back to the dream. I am on the toilet when Jenny walks in. She is surprised. As am I - and apologetic. Then she says, "Wait, are you pooping? Here, look at mine!" And somehow her poop appears on the counter. And we compare.
This is what autism Moms do. We examine our kids' poop all the time. For texture, color, smell (it's hell but the off smell off the offal off smell can really tell if you're child is well) and creepy critters. Yes, worms. We rarely examine each other's though.
Tonight, maybe I'll just stay awake.
(My apologies to the Coprophilia crowd who is now sorely disappointed in this post.)