For the record, I do not like potty humor. I don't find it funny. There is a reason my preschooler knows the word "crass". (He is the main culprit of potty humor in our house.) Yet, here I am processing the delightful topic of baby poo. It was 11am and I was already showered and dressed. A win! I was cooking my breakfast of oatmeal, thinking of what a blissful day it was, with the golden leaves peeking in from outside my window. So young, and naive my morning self was. Also, you read that right, breakfast at 11am, even though I had been up since 5:45am. But food evaded me as I got the kids ready for school, then broke up fights between the older two, which led to my oldest and I discussing how I need to work on my parenting skills as he ate his breakfast and I made his lunch. But now, it was my time with the older children gone. Baby was in his high chair babbling along to our listening party of T Swift's Midnights . (I did not stay up until midnight last night to he