Background Story: Growing up, all bodily functions were taboo. We didn't burp, fart (not even armpit farts), have b.o., etc. And even to say the words spelled certain doom. I'm not really sure how, but in the 11 years of being married to David, our family word has become "poop". Believe me, it was very uncomfortable for me to join the game for quite awhile. Not so much anymore. Dave and I ask our girls questions like, "What do you want for dinner? What do you want for your birthday/Christmas? What's your favorite subject in school?" and a lot of the time their answer is simply, "Poop." They ask us the same kind of questions: "Where are we going? What's for dinner? What movie are we going to go see?" And they get the same simple answer. "Poop." Or if we're feeling creative, "Poopoo McDoopoo. Poop Sandwiches. Poopie McPooperton." Weird, I know. But it's our family thing.
Fast forward to this morning around 2am: Shyla's wide awake. Me? Not so much. She's on my chest, eyes wide open, picking her head up, practicing push-ups, kicking with her legs, squirmy-mcsquirmster. Both amused and aggravated, I ask her, "Shyla, where are you trying to go?" She looked right at me, and pooped. "Poop, Mom. I'm trying to go poop."