Anatomy 101

I'm asked frequently how I am able to recall the many goofy things Cael says.  The truth of the matter is that I don't remember a lot of it.  Almost every word out of the kid's mouth is blog-worthy, so some of those words are bound to disappear.  I'm too busy changing poopy diapers and drawing trains to document it all, but the real gems-- the things he says that surprise even me-- stick with me. 

Take, for example, the conversation I had with my son yesterday afternoon.  He was up from yet another incredibly short nap and I was assembling some stuffed peppers.  I turned on the babysitter TV and successfully latched him on to an episode of Thomas the Train.  (You like how I've all but forgotten Tuesday's post?)  This is the easiest part of my day, believe it or not.  Of all the traits Cael could inherit from me, God blessed him with the bionic hearing which wakes both of us from a dead sleep with little effort.  Because of this, I have to turn the television on before I lay him down for a nap simply for some cover noise.  Heaven forbid I sneeze-- the kid is there within seconds to check out the snot on my tissue to see if it's clear.  Once he's awake and immersed in a show or a toy I finally get that "me time".

Sounds enchanting, right?  Sadly, most days my "me time" is spent either cleaning or digging in the flowerbeds.  But yesterday I got a real treat.  I got to pee in peace.  Or not.  Within seconds, Cael had weaseled his way into the bathroom, 3 different trains in hand, to set up camp.  He staked out his spot on the edge of the bathrub a mere two feet away from me and stared. 

"Are you pooping, Mommy?"  (Is nothing sacred anymore?)

"No, Cael.  I just have to pee.  Could you please go back downstairs and give me a minute to finish?"

"But why don't you stand up to pee?"

"You remember, honey.  I'm a girl... girls just can't pee standing up like boys can."  (To date, we've had this conversation somewhere around 2 trillion times.)

"You don't pee from your nuts?" 

"No, Cael.  And neither do you.  You pee from your penis."

"That's silly, Mommy.  I pee from my nuts.  YOU pee from your nuts!"

"I hate to break it to you Cael, but no one does that.  There's no hole in your nuts for the pee to come through."

On a good day, that might have been acceptable.  And I was oh-so-hopeful the conversation was done, since I was still stranded on the toilet with a child that has yet to grasp the concept of personal space.  But no such luck.  I must not have chosen a very compelling episode of Thomas, because our invasive conversation continued.

"Mommy, can I see your nuts?"

"Cael, as I have told you time and time again, I do not have nuts.  And you know that it's not good manners to ask people about their private parts."

"Would I get in trouble?"

"You might.  When you're in preschool they will not find it funny if you talk about private parts."

"The teacher won't think it's funny?"

"That's right.  It's not appropriate."

"But do you think the teacher pees out of her nuts?"

"Cael Foreman, I would like you to go downstairs please.  I will be down in just a minute when I am finished."

"Okay, Mommy."

But wait... could it really be that easy?  Was he simply waiting for me to use MY good manners?  Nope, he wasn't.  I heard him open and close the door in the hall bathroom and lift the lid on the toilet.  But rather than peeing as he normally would, I hear a series of thuds and bangs that I can identify as the little trainer potty being dragged around the room.  What is he doing?

I opened the door to a scene from the kind of movie I would NOT let my kid see on Netflix.  He was standing on the little potty, legs spread-- but weirder still, he was facing backward and away from the toilet.  My face must have read confusion like a book, because he immediately started explaining.

"I'm a boy Mommy."

"Yeah.... but what in the world are you doing?"

"I'm pooping standing up."

"Cael!!  You can't poop standing up.  Nobody can.  The poop won't go in the toilet and we'll be left with a yucky mess to clean up." 

"But you can clean it up with the vaccuum!"

"No, if you poop like this and it gets on the floor, it will be your job to clean it up."

"Oh.  I think I'll just sit down."

Crisis averted.  Averted, that is, for today, since I catch him the some bizarre act on a daily basis.  Whether it is trying to poop standing up or trying to take his own head off (yes, really), his gears are always turning.  I've yet to decide whether he's simply learning about his world, or if he is an evil genius plotting my mental breakdown.  I'm leaning toward the second. 

Dressed and back downstairs, I put Thomas back on for my son and I headed up the stairs to my peppers.

"Mommy, I'm gonna ask you a question.  Why won't you let me see your nuts?"

Good thing I got that "me time" in the bathroom.