Editor’s Note: This is the final installment in Ashley Toland- Trice’s (lack of) parenting columns, as she finishes up her maternity leave.

It took me 32 years to compile one. It has only taken Anders six weeks.

Mine is full of backstabbers, old boyfriends and former employers — you know, all the usual people you find on a person’s sh*t list. But, boy oh boy, Anders’ poo poo list seems to be comprised mostly of innocents, most specifically, the elderly and/or visually impaired.

Why would a 6-week-old baby have it out for grannies and the farsighted?

Well, you see, in my relentless (and failed) pursuit of parental perfection, I inadvertently created his (quite literal) poo poo list for him.

For years, I have used my fridge as a very extensive archive for the birth announcements of my friends’ kids. I didn’t really mean to create a library such as this, but over the years as each of them shot one out and announced it via the U.S. Mail, I carefully stuck their cards behind the magnets of various pizza places and ambulance chasers.

During the last few months of my pregnancy, my affinity for anything with the word “cream” in it kept me at this “library” quite a bit, and I studied all of these cards thoroughly.

The older ones are quite simple — just cards with their baby’s names and details along with a wallet-sized hospital photo. But gradually over time, these things got fancy. The ink no longer came from a ball point pen and those awful hospital photos were exchanged for professionally shot ones. Some had written poems about their babies; others used ribbons and bows and something called vellum; one even had a portrait drawn and used that as her son’s announcement.

Basically, it takes a lot of work to tell everyone a baby has vacated your uterus.

When Anders was finally evicted from mine, one of the first things everyone noticed about my little man was how big his feet were. This not only gave my husband the opportunity to make “you know what they say about big feet” jokes, but it also gave me an idea for the all-important announcement.

After we got home and settled, I must have taken a hundred photos — all featuring his feet. I tried different back drops and lighting and put him in a variety of outfits.

Finally, after two weeks of playing Anne Geddes, I felt I had enough shots to choose the perfect photo. I settled on one where he was sleeping in a white onesie, with his big footsies prominently displayed in the foreground. It may not have vellum or bows, but it was definitely cute.

I could already hear people saying “Awww” as they put it on their Frigidaires. So I gave the designer final approval and went on about my day, feeling like an awesome mom.

Later that night, when my husband got home, I couldn’t wait to show him my stellar work. He looked at the proof I had finalized and sent to the printer and said, “That’s cute but what’s that spot in between his legs?”

I ran over to the computer and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit,” I screamed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought it was,” he said.

Maybe I was just so tired or maybe I was just so focused on his feet that I failed to notice that he had apparently poo-ed himself during one of our photo shoots, and there was a dark spot right in between his legs that sort of looked like the state of Alaska.

I called the company immediately and asked them to stop the presses, but it was too late. The lady said she didn’t think it was that noticeable. It looked more like a “shadow of his foot” to her. Uh huh — that is if his foot looks like a pile of Alaskan-shaped dookie.

My dreams of people saying “oh how precious” were replaced with images of them saying, “Ugh. That looks like crap. No really. I think that’s crap.”

We went ahead and ordered another box with the poop graphically removed and decided if, in fact, it wasn’t that noticeable, maybe we would be able to use some of the crappy ones. But who would we put on Anders’ sh*t list?

We debated about sending them to people who hadn’t acknowledged his existence yet or to those who had said something snarky about his name (the “oh, that’s different” people), but we finally decided it would probably be best to put all the great, great aunts and uncles who we figured a.) wouldn’t notice it at all or b.) could commiserate with his soiled situation.

The next morning I received an e-mail from the graphic designer who informed me there had been a problem with their press and they had not printed either of the orders yet. And she figured I would want to revise my order to get two boxes of the “non-foot shadow” or non-poop one (depending on how you look at it). Thrilled, I did just that.

And so Anders’ sh*t list was cleared just like that, well except, he requested that we keep the man who took a knife to his wee wee on the second day of his life, as well as those people who keep sticking needles in his heels and thighs at the doctor’s office.

Fair enough, son. Fair enough.