It’s all toilet talk in our household at the moment.
I’m going to blame preschool here, but not in a damning, brimstone kind-of way; more of a brace yourself for we are entering older childhood! reality. It was inevitable. If not at school, then via the park, or The Simpsons, or even just putting an ear to the bathroom door.
Here’s just a sample: “You’re a poo-poo head.” Or “Stinky pants!” Or “Big bum!”
Anything pertaining to the lower half of the human carriage is fair game for analysis and reference. So far it’s been manageable. Keira is learning, and by ‘learning’ I mean ‘constantly reminded’ that that kind of talk is not appropriate. Worse, you might even hurt someone’s feelings, like her brother.
I was talking over the fence the other afternoon to our next door neighbour and Keira came to stand beside me.
“Where’s your brother?” asked my neighbour to Keira.
“You mean poopy boy? I don’t know.” Then she dissolved into giggles over the look of remonstration that came over my face. “Poopy boy!” And she ran inside, laughing.
I turned back to my neighbour only to see she’d turned her back to me; holding her hand over her mouth, she was trying to hide her own smile – no doubt so as not to encourage my daughter further.
“Sorry about that” I said.
“Nah! It’s fine!” she said. “You’re probably going to hear even worse once she’s in school.”
Saints preserve us.
