Before our first baby was born, Bugglehubby and I made all the requisite preparations. Painted the nursery. Learned how to install the carseat. Started ignoring the dog. What we couldn't seem to decide on was what the hell we were going to call it.
I'm not talking about the baby. I'm talking about what comes out of the baby. Because along with snakes, exams with essay questions and USC athletics, Bugglehubby had this preternatural aversion to the word "poop."
Recognizing that indulging him in this bizarre, completely irrational quirk might prove advantageous, I agreed to brainstorm new ideas. But a cursory search through The 10,001 Best Poop Names left us wanting. We rose to the challenge. To his "growler," "dump" and "stinker," I added "freshie" and the old standby, "number two." We also considered the possibility of forgoing a label altogether in favor of gentle innuendo, as in "you change the f-ing mess."
In the end, we agreed to disagree: he settled on the macho, crude "dump," I on the sweetly innocuous "freshie."
But it was all for naught. There was just no avoiding the poop. The inadvertent exposure therapy eventually mitigated Buggledaddy's phobia. Today, he's able to utter the forbidden word with only a slight cringe, though he still prefers his go-to terminology.
Just the other day, Bugglegirl was gazing out the bay window, watching Buggledog in the yard. "She's taking a dump, Daddy?"
[Craving more toilet talk? Tune in Tuesdays for a freshie.]
2 years ago
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