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StorkNet presents . . .
Sanity Central > Columns > Stretchmarks on My Sanity

Quite The Connoisseur
by Linda Sharp

I am a woman of many talents. Educated, personable, thoughtful (at least so I'm told to my face). But the true scope of my abilities never dawned on me, until today, when I opened the door to my toddler's room to greet her "Good morning!". A cloud of such noxious proportions threatened to knock me back into the hallway. It was then I realized that much like a sommelier, the true connoisseur of wine, I was a "doo-doolier", a true connoisseur of baby poop.

Without having taken so much as a single step towards her bed, I had already ascertained that I was not dealing with your ordinary, straightforward diaper offering here. No. It would require a new outfit for her, a towel to lay her upon and an item with which to distract her hands. Yessiree, it was going to be a three wiper . . . minimum.

I shouldn't be surprised by this talent. Having created three of the most perfect ani (plural for anus?) in the world, I have encountered most, if not all, of the products they can produce. It just never dawned on me that I had truly developed a "nose", able to read it's not so subtleties, bouquets and "notes". Thinking back, there have been red flags that should have alerted me to my increasing acumen. Like the time I walked into a neighbor's home for playgroup and was able to immediately target, with sniper-like accuracy, which child was in need of interrupting their mother's coffee and croissant. Or sitting in the pediatrician's waiting room and knowing exactly which child was being seen for . . . how shall I put this delicately? . . . viral intestinal distress? And how could I overlook the many times my olfactory prowess has led me to sweetly say, "Honey, it's your turn . . .".

I imagine I am not alone in my hidden ability. I suspect there is an entire underground of parents, grandparents and care givers whose "nasal radar" is just as finely tuned as mine. An entire population who can discern solidity, composition, age, illness --- even corn, with just a single whiff of the "goblet". To these souls I say, pat yourselves on the back! You have silently, without even being aware, procured another stripe on the uniform of child care giver. To those new parents, you poor souls to whom each diaper spells mystery and adventure, take heart. One day you too will open the door to your baby's room and know, without doubt or hesitation, that you have graduated to the ranks of "doo-doolier". Just be glad, that unlike the sommelier, your training will never require endless tastings.

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