My four year old daughter has a way with words, it turns out. She loves to use them, and loves to describe things to us and tell us about her accomplishments of the day so we’ll be proud. She’ll tell us what she did at school or what she did with friends. She’ll tell us what she ate, and she’s not bashful about saying whether things were good (”I ate every single bite!”) or whether she had her fill (”It wasn’t so good…”). And then, typically at the end of the day, after emerging from the bathroom, she’ll tell us about her poop.
She hasn’t quite picked up that talking about one’s poop isn’t socially done, nor has she figured out the normal ways people describe their poop when they do describe it. She doesn’t use words like hard, soft, big, or little. Oh no. For a four year old, there are so many interesting ways to describe poop, because, as it turns out, to a four year old (or Mike Rowe) there are so many different kinds of poop.
Tree poop, for example.
Tree poop is not poop from a tree. Tree poop is poop that looks like a tree. Apparently, a Truffula Tree.
This evening, she had a new kind of poop.
Dead bird poop.
Apparently, dead bird poop is when there’s a lot of poop, and some of it gets on the seat, and it’s really gross. Like a dead bird.
She’s going to hate it when I tell her kids about this.
Update 11/9: Today, it was a flower poop and a squid poop.
