Those are words to instill fear in any mother of a 2 ½ year old boy. Something awful happened awhile ago and I thought I had successfully blocked it out of my brain until today while I was catching up with Shannie at Where Is My Mind and read this.
Thanks Shannie for bringing it back to the surface for me. Now I'll have to spend the next few days trying to pound it back down into the depths of my subconscious self.

About two months ago we were still working on ‘poopies in the potty not in the big boy pants.’ Sport ran off to do his potty thing and I didn’t think to much of it until I heard those fateful words, 'Dat's Nasty!'

There are not many things I've discovered in my world so far that a little boy finds nasty. I, of course go immediately into denial mode. Maybe if I just ignore it whatever it is will go away. Yup, that's a good plan.

'Dat's Nasty! Eew, Nasty!' Ugh, there it is again and with a capital ‘N’. I’m sure I don’t want to know what it is. Really, I don’t.

Apparently it isn’t going to go away. If I wait too long we are at the point where it will probably get worse. So, with much trepidation I haul myself off the couch and slowly walk toward the bathroom, ready to shrink back in fear and/or disgust.

Oh. My. Gawd!

Sport apparently missed getting his big boy pants down before going poops. His solution to the mess was to put his poopy underwear into the toilet to wash them out. When I walked in he was wringing them out against his chest and dripping nasty poopy water all down his belly onto the floor. (gulp, gasp, Ick!)

Immediate shower for Sport, bleach scrub down for the bathroom, and steaming hot shower for me. I do not handle poop or boogers well.