Milo, age two, was feeling thwarted by me the other day. I can’t even remember what it was exactly — I stopped him from doing something he wanted to do? He wanted something and I told him No? Something along those lines.
Furious, his little face screwed up and tears welling up in his eyes, he pointed at me and screamed: "POOPY!"
Then he immediately dissolved into giggles. I couldn’t help snickering, too. I think the whole idea of calling me Poopy must have been so funny to him, it completely relieved the tension between us. He wasn’t angry after that, and he happily went without whatever it was he had been denied.
The same thing has played out a few times since then. Ordinarily I would tell a child that it’s not okay to call someone names, but I can’t help thinking of this as more funny than anything else. It’s almost turning into a joke between us.
bearing blog 