I really don't have a problem with poop. I see my fair share of it on the daily basis. In the potty. In diapers. Pull ups. Underpants the other day.
I've even called myself a "pooperologist."
Watch out, Dr. Oz. I'm coming for you.
But I'm not so keen on it coming up at the dinner table.
I'm not even sure how it starts.
"Schnoopy zoopy!" one says.
And you can guess what's next.
It's gotten so bad that we've started to enforce the three poop rule.
If you say "poop" at the table three times, you lose dessert.
Add that to my "never thought I'd do that and then I became a parent" list.
Oh right, and "butt" too.
I don't quite understand the infatuation with poop, or why it somehow creeps into completely unrelated conversations or follows words that don't even rhyme.
"Broccoli! Toccoli! POOP!"
*cue uncontrollable laughter by small people*
So I'm not raising a Ralph Waldo Emerson. Heck, even Dr. Seuss would do a little better than that.
Yesterday we all sat down at the table, and after a few minutes, I joyously announced to everyone that Margot had pooped on the potty.
We all cheered.
Then my kids scolded me for saying "poop" at the dinner table.