I’ve been thinking a lot about pee lately. Lately I’ve spent a great deal of time contemplating urine.
Which sentence strikes you as more powerful? Which one makes you think about stepping in it? Or smelling it? Or wiping it up for the 20th time in a given day? Hmm?
Pee sounds more ordinary, doesn’t it? Urine is a pretty clinical term. But either way: they mean the same dang thing and I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the last 24 hours because I have started the grueling process of potty-training my child.
As I scoop her up and carry her tinkling little bottom to her pink princess potty chair, I wonder why my kittens could learn to use the litter box in one day, and my daughter will (most likely) take a week to train? Why is it that dogs just know that they must find a tree, or pole, or hydrant or whatever is sticking up out of the ground–and pee on it? Did the mama dog train the puppy to pee on the hydrant? No, I don’t think so. They just know that that’s what they are supposed to do. Now, I’m not sure if this rule applies to the little dogs, like my mother and sis-in-laws dogs. They’re both about the size of a cat, and like cats they pee in a giant litter box type thing. And then there’s my parent’s dog–Mandy. This dog is no cat-dog. She’s a roving beast. When my parents take her out in the field behind their house they let her go and she divvies her pee all over. Weirdo.
Anyways, all that to say I wish that we just stuck our kids on the toilet and they would know what to do. Instead, there has to be this horrid “Marshland” period. That’s what I’m going to call it, because everything gets soggy.