poopin’

yes, it’s natural
and yes, everyone does it
but not in meetings

The wee one has developed a propensity for saving up his poopin’ prowess for when we’re out of the house.

He came with me to a meeting about some freelance work: 5 minutes into the meeting – poop.

He stayed with Daddy at work while mommy went to the doctor: 5 minutes into visiting Daddy’s office – poop.

He went to the dentist this morning for an "orientation" visit (to just meet everyone and see the equipment, before we go for the cleaning next week): 5 minutes in the waiting room – poop.

This is not counting the urinating on the floor at the vet’s office.

You might think he’s just a nervous kid, pooping at the mere thought of meetings or doctors. But I don’t think that’s it. This is a gregarious, walk straight up to strangers and strike up a conversation (!) kind of kid. He doesn’t really get nervous.

You might also think this is a potty-training thing. But we’re not pushing the potty at all. He’s wearing pull-ups and gets stickers if he goes in the potty, but that’s it. We’re trying to be low-key about it, so he doesn’t get all weird about it. Right.

So anyway. My kid needs to be in public to poop. Does that sound like a Maury show, or what?

oh, lord

should have resisted
the very early sex talk
should have known better

Over the past few months I’ve been getting a lot of "where do babies come from" questions from the wee one. A lot of his friends are getting baby brothers and sisters now, and he’s naturally curious. Now, I know that as a three-year-old, he’s not going to understand how babies are made. Yet, I don’t want to feed him the stork story either.

We briefly talked about mommies growing babies in their tummies, but there was no mention of how the babies got there in the first place. Then, all by himself, with no explanation or prompting involved, the wee one began announcing to people that babies come out of mommies butts.

So we cooled it on the baby talk for a while.

Out of the blue this afternoon he came up to me and asked, "Do babies come from eggs?" I asked him where he had heard that – did daddy tell him that? He shook his head. So I told him that some babies, like birds and lizards come from eggs. Then I went a little too far and said that mommies have tiny, tiny eggs that babies come from.

The wee one said, "but you have big eggs. I can see them."

"You can?" I asked, wondering what strange bulges he was referring to. "Where are they?"

"In the refrigerator."

actual conversation

why is he so shocked
that I am even more shocked
at what he’s doing?

Me: What are you doing?

Wee One (sitting ON TOP of his dollhouse, lapping at a small wooden chair): Licking the wood.

Me: Why?

Wee One (looking at me like I’m insane): so I can clean it.

I guess I should be happy that he’s cleaning things.

story

sufficiently numb
makes visiting relatives
much, much easier

While we were on the vacay, we had the chance to catch up with quite a few relatives. We hadn’t seen most of them for at least two years, so it was fun to see everyone. It’s amazing how, even though so much time has passed, everyone is still the same.

We had a quite an adventure with Uncle Joe. The wee one took to him immediately. As he snuggled up under Uncle Joe’s sunburned arm, Uncle Joe regaled the rest of us with an alarming, but funny story about a friend of his who had recently been struck by lightning. The friend is a plumber, and the lightning actually struck his wrench, went through his body, and exited through his kneecap. Yowch. But this tough old mountain plumber just waited for his body to stop twitching, put some salve on his fiery kneecap, and carried on with his work.

Uncle Joe tells the story way better than I do, but the real point here is that the wee one was all ears during this tale. It’s also important to note that the wee one is not a fan of thunderstorms.

As Uncle Joe finished up his story and the rest of us were laughing, the wee one began furiously waving his arms. "Excusemeexcusemeexcusemeexcuseme!" he shouted (we’re teaching him to be polite).

"He had lightning on his KNEE?"
"In the thunderstorm?"
"On his leg?"
"In the rain?"
"With the booms?"
etc.

The wee one was at once horrified and mesmerized by the story. Uncle Joe quickly tried to mop up by saying that his friend was all better now and there was no problem at all. The wee one was not convinced.

"No problem?" he asked. "No problem with your friend and his knee?"

"No problem," Uncle Joe affirmed.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Because for the rest of the trip, every time the wee one spotted Uncle Joe he would holler out, "No problem?" And Joe would answer "No problem."

After a few days of this, Uncle Joe began arriving at our beach condo with a small cooler. The cooler was much like Mary Poppins’ magically bottomless bag, only it was filled with beer instead of floor lamps. Sufficiently lubricated to enjoy saying "No problem" 748 times, Uncle Joe was able to continue visiting us. And all was right with vacation. Except for the emotional scarring of the wee one.