This evening I got off work early, and since I had time I thought I'd make ratatouille, a fairly labor intensive dish for those of you who don't know what it is. I frenetically chopped and sauteed vegetables, leaving Luca mostly to his own devices in the living room. All of a sudden he comes up to the kitchen gate and says "Mama, kitty poopy."
Now of late our cat has been having problems with hairballs. I figured one of two things could have happened: Either the cat threw up on the rug again, or he simply went to his litter box, which Luca enjoys pointing out for whatever reason. I quickly exited the kitchen hoping for the former, and was greeted by a smallish light brown mass on the rug. Great, I thought, another hairball, but at least it looks fairly contained. I grabbed a paper towel and picked it up. As I did so, I noticed the consistency was a bit, well, let's just say off.
What I did next is completely unfathomable to someone who is not a) a parent, b) a pet owner, and/or c) a childcare worker. I sniffed it. I don't mean I stuck my nose in it, just took a little whiff. And after years of owning a cat, three years in childcare, and nearly two years of parenting, I could tell immediately that it was not a hairball. So I turned to the next logical culprit. This was the resulting dialogue:
Me: "Luca, are you poopy?"
Me: "Luca, you are poopy."
Luca: "Kitty poopy! Kitty poopy!"
Me: "Luca, you have poop in your pants. Go to the bathroom!"
Luca finally waddled off to the bathroom with a full load only partially contained in his pull-up, still asserting it was "kitty-poopy" and not his. Let this be a cautionary tale to anyone who thinks toddlers don't lie.