There is a woman who works in an area of my office that will be using the cloth diapers that Franklin soiled about a billion times. She is a woman of many hats and on top of working near me, she has also been a casual “teacher on call” for the preschool that Franklin attends.
Here comes the irony:
We were discussing the end of her contract in my office and the potential to start again at preschool. She rolled her eyes at the prospect. It isn’t that she doesn’t enjoy the kids; apparently it is the potty humour that she knows she will have to endure. She’s up to her eyeballs in poop at home with her newborn baby and then she has to look forward to a full day of poo talk at work.
She is right. There seems to be nothing more fascinating to a three year old than poo. From the time we get there in the morning, the lunch hours and the afternoon pickup, there is poo flying everywhere – you know what I mean.
Nanana Poo Poo!
You eat POO!
You are a Poo Poo head!
I’m going to poop on you!
Do you eat POO?
How about PEE? Do you drink PEE?
Hahahahahahahha, YES YOU DO!
YOU EAT POO AND PEE!
I suggested that when her son grows to the curious age of three, she might find it cute and interesting – and then I laughed nervously. She just looked at me blankly.
Clearly, my plan of endearing her to my child’s most certain and imminent poo talk wasn’t working very well.
The reason being, although he is currently enamored with trains and more so with all things space, he is obsessed with poo and pee – like the rest of his peers.
(Well, not all of his peers. There are a couple of older children who have passed the poo developmental stage and will only revert back if things get out of hand silly. I have a feeling this will happen to Franklin when he becomes…oh…say, 16 and trying to be somewhat cool. Then he’ll come back to his childhood when he’s 20 and stay there.)
D was farting the other day in the bathroom* and Franklin was laughing so hard he was having a hard time standing. All bodily functions are funny. All of them. So, as we are a bodily function kind of family, there is a lot of laughter in this house. There is also a lot of poo talk.
* (Heh heh… sorry, hon. For the record everybody, I fart too)
However, I have drawn the line with the subject of poo while we are eating. Although I am perfectly at ease talking about bowel movements at the dinner table, the ramifications of Franklin mentioning that he had a “big POO and he spattered EVERYWHERE!” while sitting with my in-laws fills me with such horror that I need to switch hats from “ALMIGHTLY POO MASTER” to plain ol’ Mother.
Mother says, “No poo or pee talk at the table, please.”