Sometimes, when warm water and rocking aren't enough, and I'm curled up in a ball because something wants to come out of one end or the other and I wish it would make its mind up and get a move on, I sing myself a little song.
I sing, Poo, poo, my world is poo ...
Or, Daddy's taking us for a poo tomorrow, poo tomorrow, poo tomorrow ...
I got the sun in the morning and the poo at night ...
Or, of course, My grandma and your grandma/(I poo, I poo all day).
I can't say it helps, exactly, but it passes the time. Passing a motion would be better, but you can't have it all.
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