Poop Happens

It's happening again. Just as all the poop-talk finally began to subside with Dear Daughter, we are having a poop-talk revival now that Dear Son has been eating solids for a month. It seems it's our parental duty to know when our infant pooped, how much, what color, what consistency, etc etc.

Me: "Has Zachy had a poopy diaper today that you know of?"
Dear Hubby: "No. I only changed him that one time before I went to work this morning, and he was only wet. I haven't changed a poopy one since a couple days ago when he had that formed turd wedged between his cheeks."
Me: "Hmmm. Well all he had today was a couple of little dabs. But it is definitely getting a lot more formed lately. I wonder if he had one while he was at Mom's yesterday?"
Dear Hubby: "She didn't mention it."
Me: "I wonder if I should call and ask her. If he didn't poop yesterday, that means he's gone for over two days without having one."

Later...

Dear Hubby: "I changed Zachy while you were in the shower. He had another little spot of poop, but nothing big."
Me: "Hmmm. Guess there's gonna be a doozer coming up when he finally decides it's time."

Several days ago:

Me: "Zachy liked his first taste of avacados today."
Dear Hubby: "Hmmm. That'll make for some interesting poop colors."

What is up with this? I wonder if other parents engage in these kinds of poop discussions. We went through it with Dear Daughter, and now have returned to such talk with Dear Son. Actually, now that I think about it, we've never quite ended the discussion completely with Dear Daughter. Here was a conversation from the other day:

Me: "Oh...I have a funny thing to tell you about what Zoe said today."
Dear Hubby: "Yeah?"
Me: "After she had her noon poopy she peered into the toilet and said, 'I had quite the turd!' It was, too! Good grief, I've never seen so much poop come out of her."
Dear Hubby: "She had one like that the other day..." blah blah blah (you get the picture).

Conversational topics have gone through some dramatic changes in the past three years. The scariest part is that Dear Hubby and I were married nearly seven years BZ2, and my memory is getting a bit foggy over what we conversed about when it wasn't poop.