By Nick Reiher

While this incongruous headline may offend some, many parents, I’m sure, can identify.

We didn’t have texting when our kids, now in their mid-30s, were small enough that we focused on their bodily functions, mostly, good ol’ Number 2. Because, unless there are dehydration concerns, who really cares about Number 1?

Thankfully, our kids were born in the era of disposable diapers. For my Mom (and some Dads), and all the others who suffered out there, thank you.

When our daughter Jillian was born, we looked for what we were told by the nurses at St. Joe’s to expect and how often to expect it. Changes to look for (no pun intended). When to call.

As an aside, soon after taking Jillian home, which scared the heck out of us, we gave her her first bath in the blue plastic tub parents of that generation will remember. Yes, we. Two of us. And it still took us, literally, a half hour to bathe our newborn.

Grown-up Jillian was nearly in tears laughing when she saw the video. By the time she and Andy were a few years older, Tammy OR I were bathing them in the tub with toys and squeals. And I relished drying their hair by using a towel to buff their tetes like a pair of Florsheims.

Ah, Andy. Things would be easier with him since we knew what to expect, right? Nope. He had a case of chronic hives that could attack any organ, including his intestinal system. Each undoing of his diapers left us scared to death.

Thankfully, he’s fine now, and putting his intestinal track to the test daily. I keep reminding him how that diet led me to meet Dr. Peter nearly 20 years ago, when he had to remove about a foot of my embattled intestine.

Jump ahead now some 30 years. As I scroll through the texts between Tammy and me, they are laden with updates on Number 2. In 99 percent of the cases, those messages focus on our puppy, Pixie Stixx Rae Reiher, whom we adopted a little over a year ago.

Before we took her home, Pixie and her playmates at the rescue had an open-door policy when it came to playing and pooping, coming and going as they pleased, still needing an indoor pad at times.

Re-training her to go outside in the yard on a regular basis has been one of our biggest challenges, duly recorded in the texts between Tammy and me.

“Pixie pooped in the hallway. Pixie pooped near the front door. She pooped outside! (Cue the treats and brass band). Then she pooped in the hallway.”

We have textual documentation of the frequency, locations and … other stuff. Pixie had been doing well until the recent storms, and then, of course, the Fourth of July. I had thought the latter might scare the Number 2 out of her, but it had the opposite result.

After a couple days of nothing, as her eyes seemed to be getting larger in her little head, she finally consecrated the back yard once more. Twice in one day.

Hallelujah

So, on to the next adventure.

Betwixt these canine scatological notes are messages familiar to any couple, married or otherwise, who have been together for more than a few years:

“Any ideas for dinner?”

I saw a Facebook meme recently that said, “Who knew marriage would become a daily decision of what to cook with chicken or ground beef?”

Yeah, no … foolin’.

Nick Reiher is editor of Farmers Weekly Review.