What They Don’t Tell You About Parenting: Gas Edition

Yet another item on the long list of Things They Don’t Tell You About Parenting involves… and there’s no easy way to say it…

Farting.

Before I had children, I had no idea that kid farts would insidiously weave themselves into the tapestry of our family history right along with birthdays, family vacations, and the many milestones of childhood. To this day, I can recall the progression of sounds and smells associated with my children’s farts from their infancy all the way to the present. And I’m not the only one– Just as a mother can pick out her own child’s voice in a crowd of children, so can she identify her kid based solely on the smell of his fart.

Yes, it’s disgusting. BUT IT’S ALSO TRUE.

Not only that, a mom can also tell by that smell whether her child needs to go to the bathroom and whether he’s sick or constipated. And this is no useless party trick– Thanks to my “seventh sense,” I generally know that it’s time for a potty break even before my kids do.

“Start looking for an exit with a clean restroom,” I’ve said to my husband on countless car trips, shortly after looking up from my magazine and sniffing the air suspiciously.

“Do you need to go?” he’ll ask.

“No,” I’ll say. “But Bruiser will in about five minutes.” Hubs wrinkles his nose as the smell hits him.

“And we might as well get some drinks while we’re stopped, too,” I continue, putting my magazine away. “It’s gonna be a big one.”

As my children have gotten older, they’ve gotten better about heading to the bathroom at the first or second gaseous emission- When they were younger, they typically waited an inordinate amount of time before pooping, thus filling the room with fumes so noxious that our pet goldfish once inhaled a fart-filled air bubble and floated belly up in the water for two hours before reviving.

But at the ages of five and eight, they still haven’t yet learned the fine art of fart coverage. Instead, when air wants to make its way out of their intestines, they help it leave their little bodies with gusto– and the resulting noise can sometimes be heard two houses away.

It’s safe to say that kid farts are the drum section in the soundtrack of my life.

I am starting to see some progression in the fart-hiding department, though — Recently, Bruiser has created an imaginary friend, who apparently has no role in my son’s fantasy world other than “designated farter.”

“ZACK did that!!” my son announces each time he lets one rip. “That were ZACK!”

Occasionally, Zack is unavailable, forcing Bruiser to place the blame elsewhere.

“That were Daddy!” he’ll shout. “Daddy pooted!”

“Daddy is at work,” I’ll say drily. Bruiser will pause for a moment, thinking hard about how to get around this unexpected complication.

“Daddy is SO LOUD!” he’ll crow triumphantly. “You can hear his poots all the way FROM WORK!”

Punky has an altogether different approach. She passes gas without shame, then pretends as if nothing happened.

“What is everyone laughing about?” she’ll say after a particularly ear-shattering poot. She’ll frown at each of us. “I didn’t hear anything,” she concludes, returning to her book.

I’ve opted not to say anything to my kids just yet about whether the noises resulting from their bodily functions are impolite. As far as gas is concerned, better out than in, right? I don’t like to think of them trying not to pass gas and suffering stomach pains as a result.

But at Starbucks a few nights ago, I wondered about the wisdom of my logic. Punky and I visit our Starbucks one night a week for a little reading time together. On that particular evening, we sat in our favorite leather armchairs side by side and read our books in companionable silence. The tables around us were filled with adults quietly working on their computers and students studying for finals.

Suddenly, I heard what could have been a Guinness World Record contender for the loudest, longest fart on earth. My eyes widened and I surreptitiously glanced over at Punky. She continued reading, unperturbed. As I was watching her, it happened again, magnified by the leather cushion on which she was seated. People looked up and around at each other, startled. Punky casually turned a page in her book. I could hear giggling around me, and that that point, my mother’s instinct kicked in. I did what I had to do in order to protect my child.

I looked over at a man seated a few feet away with his back to us, wrinkled my nose and fanned my face with my book.

Once I was satisfied that blame had been assigned, I sat back in my chair and sneaked another glance at Punky. She was still staring down at her book, but now there was a small smile on her face.

I like to think that in that moment, she knew without a doubt that a mother’s love truly knows no bounds…

…even when it comes to farting.

 

Image via iamtheo/Flickr