Poo-Poo Ca-Ca on the Brain

the Unreliable Narrator is going through a lengthy phase where the punchline to every joke is “poo-poo.” it’s, uh, wearing a little thin. (sorry if you came here looking for a restaurant review. we’re talking about the other end today. go back thataway.)

not having spent much time around very small males before in my life (i.e., no little brother), i have no idea when–or if–this phase ends.

i asked HB for his opinion, and he told me a story about how in college he and his buddies wondered if they could pee off a certain bridge into a well-known gorge at our bucolic, if neurotic, university. and they were 18 when they wondered that.

so i guess the answer to my query is: never, or 35.

the answer to a great many things involving men might just be “35″:

  • when do they buy a clue?
  • when do they get sexy wrinkles & that “Brad Pitt/lived-in look”? (might only apply to Brad Pitt/Johnny Depp, and HB, who i keep urging sunscreen upon)
  • when do they sometimes puff up, unfortunately, as the monster-fast metabolism of the all-you-can-eat-buffet teen/twentysomething years slams headlong into “hey, these Dockers are kinda comfy” age?
  • when do they decide (see above) that mcdonald’s for breakfast and lunch is probably not a good idea (but can’t quite wrap their arms around tempeh)?

anyway, back to poo-poo ca-ca.

unavoidable topic of discussion if you have a small child/live with males (under the age of 18, apparently).

the other day on our way home from school, the UN was strapped into his car seat in the back of the car when he suddenly announced, “mama? i have to poo.”

after determining that the need was immediate instead of approximate, i did what any Elimination Communication-trained veteran of the potty learning years would do: i pulled over and parked, whipped out the plastic baby bjorn portable potty we keep in our trunk, and got the plastic bag and wipes of all kinds (ones for butt, and separate sanitizing ones for post-potty cleanup) ready for action.

all hail the throne.


the UN has emptied many a full bladder and bowel this way. (we live in LA, where a simple car ride from point A to point B could take 45 minutes. or longer. and p.s., by “conventional” measures he potty trained not long after turning two. he’s almost four now, and sometimes, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go… no matter how old you are.) we usually have him use the baby bjorn on the floor of the back seat of the car for more privacy. but then again, i’m blogging about this to the world, so…what privacy?

i think it makes sense to bring the mountain to mohammed, if mohammed cannot go to the mountain, so to speak. why set up a small child for pain and trouble by insisting they *must* hold it til they get to a potty? a lot of times this simply isn’t possible. as the grownup in the equation, you can anticipate needs and figure out solutions to meet them–before accidents happen.

EC sets up your child for success. you help your kid with their needs. simple enough for both input and output. if they can’t manage a fork and knife yet, you cut their food for them. if they can’t manage the clothes on/clothes off of pottying, you help them.

some other post i’ll give my Guide to Helping Your Kid Use the Potty, EC-Style. it could save your life, or at least the upholstery of your car’s interior.

but yeah, this is probably the most chinese-y thing we’ve done in raising the UN…EC is adapted from potty wisdom of cultures elsewhere in the world, one of which is china.

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