Kittymomma's Adventures

I discovered tonight that I truly have the coolest husband in the world.

Of late we have been seriously discussing when to have our first child. We’ve only been married a couple of months. Although we are at a bit of an impasse with me being “overeager” and he “undereager”, we’ve agreed to postpone reproduction until after an academic conference at which I am presenting this summer.

However, we are keeping an open dialogue going about it and things took a turn for the hilarious tonight.

It amazes me that there was no wine involved, because we got incredibly silly and began discussing, well, poop. I really hate using that word generally, but when I am in a very silly place I can start throwing it around with abandon. (The word, of course, not the actual substance.)

The trouble started when I asked him if we were getting too comfortable with each other. Ah, the paradox of marriage. You want to be totally comfortable with each other, but too comfortable is very, very bad. Our number 1 promise to each other (besides lifelong fidelity and all that) was to never use the toilet in front of each other. Unless one of us is very, very ill and severely limited in mobility or we are very, very old and severely limited in mobility. Basically, only if we are severely limited in mobility and need help. And I mean, really need it. Although my husband offered to hold my hair when I thought I was going to be sick to my stomach when we had only been dating for about a month, neither one of us wants to be witness to anything dealing with the other end. He actually offered to tether me to the toilet with a rope (In case of mobility issues) and have me holler when I’m finished rather than have to bear witness to it. That’s how modest we usually are.

That brings me back to the very big decision we will eventually make about having a child. Which, of necessity, involves that other end. I reminded him that he might have to bear witness to the very thing we’ve promised each other never to subject the other one to in childbirth. (Hey, it sometimes happens. If you don’t know that and you’re contemplating having a child, well, I’ve done you a favor.) Technically, I wouldn’t break my promise, since there would be no toilet involved, but still, no one likes to contemplate losing control of that vital function in front of others. Even though the embarrassment at the time will probably be minimal to nonexistent due to the distraction of the extreme pain you are experiencing.

My husband pondered this and then said, “Well, baby, I will be right there with you. If you need me to, I will totally drop trou and make a delivery of my own right there in the delivery room.” (He’s not only selfless, but witty.)

Now I know my modest, gentlemanly man would never actually do this. But it’s just an example of how very cool and funny and supportive and wonderful he is. Also, of the fact that poop jokes are universally funny for some reason. Hence, the fact that my husband and I joked about taking pictures of the new baby next to his, um, symbol of solidarity and laughed until we couldn’t breathe. However, my wonderful husband is also a stickler for accuracy and he had to point out that many cultures would never find those kinds of jokes funny. (Which I already knew, but he likes to tell me things anyway, so I listen. It makes him happy.) He said some cultures actually call it “dirt” rather than referring to it directly. Unfortunately, he asked me why I was messing around with my shirt right before he told me this and I told him some dirt had gotten in my bra when we were playing catch earlier. (I’ll leave that for another post and let your imaginations run wild.) Well, he was thinking of the other meaning of “dirt”, which he shared with me and we both went off in to gales of laughter again.

Don’t worry, folks. We are waiting awhile before we have that kid. And we will be a lot more grown-up by then. Or maybe we will be the coolest parents EVER!!