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Gosh! Has it really been that long without a poop post? Why, knee deep in potty-training trenches, one would’ve assumed the obligatory overshare of mornings at the Byte household 7 minutes 45 seconds before school drop-off:

NP: “So Chewy, will it be a dolphin poo-poo or a turtle poo-poo today? *”
Chewy: “Orca whale poo-poo!”

* all toilet-diving animals are strictly aquatic

While most scatological conversations tend to be chirpy, other bodily banter tend not to be so. More often, it goes like this — “Chewy, stop pulling your brother’s penis. And Nibbles, what did I tell you about your penis being your own?” Cue the dreaded “Your Penis Is Your Own” speech, which is really my own terrible compensation for a preschool sex-ed discourse, scarier than a Hansel and Gretel fairytale and more confusing than debates on nutritional value of eggs.

What is the source of my lectures teeming with awkwardness? Could I just peg it on a childhood devoid of appropriate conversations starring the penis and vagina? Appropriateness is another catch-all, ain’t it? To be more specific, why am I so inept at delivering a speech structured on scientific accuracy that promotes healthy sexuality? Oh wait — dialogue not speeches. dammit.

Should I just embrace their innocent play and untainted fascination with their bodies, let them love and respect their bodies with the same ferocity that they do their fire trucks and diggers? Perhaps their complete inability to let another touch, let alone play with, their prized toys would translate into the way they feel about their bodies.

Despite my clumsy attempts, I do believe that just because it makes for a less stressful eternity at the grocery check-out line when one’s young ‘un asks which fellow shoppers have a foomble-doozle instead of “penis” does not make it ok to stuff the topic away like dust under a rug. Or dirty laundry behind shower curtains. Or muffin-tops into jeans. What? Issues? Me??? Pffft!!!

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