The real kind of potty talk

Since my son could speak, our conversations have been full of potty talk. And I quickly realized that the shortcut to making him laugh, to easing a tense situation, and diffusing a ticking tantrum was to get really good at potty humor.

It's not like it was a trick to hone this skill. I'd been thinking potty humor for most of my life. What took time and practice was releasing all of the girly insistence that I did not want to discuss bodily functions, even in a funny way. I still don't want to go into too much detail, mind you. But I think I've gone up a few levels in my potty humor proficiency.

Thank goodness, I started early. During the years when it was just E and I in the house most days (and giggly pre-bedtime hours), the body business was a hilarious and secret conversation get safe between the two of us. Then along came the Not Boyfriend. And now comfortable dropping the f-bomb (not THAT f-bomb, the far worse word for toot or poot that I deplore and have not yet brought myself to mutter, even in the context of a great joke or relatively laughable pun) and probably happy to be around a dude-bro who is way comfortable with his body and boy stuff and this kind of talk, E let loose. With another guy around, potty talk now consumes a lot of our time to joke around. Even if I demand it has been enough, to dial down the poop hilarity for at least a little bit, it sneaks back in like...well, you know.

With two gents in the house and subsequently in my bathroom (yes, mine and mine alone) more often, that 10'x10' real estate has become even more precious. 

"If we ever all live together," the Not Boyfriend has professed with more authority than I expected, "we MUST have two bathrooms."

At first I heard this as a high-maintenance demand. I mean, he's been a bachelor for quite a while. He's not so used to sharing. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized he is absolutely right.

I spend a lot of time in my bathroom, and I'm not shy about saying it's my favorite space in my home. I retreat there for long baths. I take my time when I'm putting on make-up for a night out. I love spreading out my flat iron and curling iron and lipsticks and hair pins on the counter without the balancing act of trying to fit two things on a pedestal sink. And while my son can lip-synch into the mirror while carefully brushing his locks for a good, long time, neither of these guys is spending most of their extended stays in the bathroom getting fancy. Ahem. 

The Not Boyfriend has once or twice explained in more detail while it is a good thing for a growing boy and a grown man to have their own thrones -- but I've stopped him abruptly. I get it. The conversation has already played out in my head. No need to go into those details. I guess no matter how potty-humor adept I am, I am just not that loo-evolved just yet. 

In the meantime, we are, a few times a week, making it work in the shared space of the bathroom. One day, I hope there will be a ladies' room and a men's, where all kinds of bathroom business can take place. Behind closed doors. For now, it's OK that they roll their eyes and laugh when I raise a hand to stop the details from...umm...flowing. I am comfortable with the jokes and references and puns and funnies, reminding them that good things, and maybe even an f-bomb, come to those who (sit and) wait.

This post is sponsored by Cottonelle as a part of the Talk It Out campaign with Cherry Healy to discuss bathroom habits and better ways to get clean. Please visit the Cottonelle Facebook page here for more information and get in on the conversation.