Dash runs to the bathroom, his butt cheeks clenched in a hopefully-successful effort to keep his bowels from exploding in his pants.
Because he has just recently potty-trained. And going number two on the potty is something that he is having a hard time accepting as the normal thing to do. So he holds it for as long as he can, sometimes three days, and then finds the call of the bowl like that of a siren and finally hoists himself up, desperate to relieve himself.
After such an epic wait, the process of evacuation is, of course, one that is almost painful to watch. The effort faces alone are enough to induce a measure of compassion, even though, let's face, he's brought this on himself, the sphincter-holding beast.
Apparently, because of all the effort, and, umm, blood traveling to his nether region, his peepee has, umm, responded, shall we say.
Dash: "Mamae, my peepee is so big!"
I'm trying not to make a big deal of the fact that my son has a giant boner while taking a dump; and at the same time making a very concerted effort to refrain from laughing because that would likely induce its own trauma, one I'd be likely to have to pay some shrink to make go away.
So what is the proper response?
I smile and nod, at a complete loss for anything more helpful or interesting.
Dash: "Mamae, it's so big! Well, actually, now it isn't. It's just little again."
Smile and nod, smile and nod, wipe his tush, smile and nod while my son engages in a near soliloquoy about the size of his penis.
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