I'm still amazed by the number of times I'm saying "poop" in a serious conversation. My child's teacher asks for "butt paste," and I'm startled. "Butt paste" is a puzzling term to hear, if you're a gay man. I understand, suddenly, that the request is for Desitin, and I work hard not to giggle. The teacher reports that my son "pooped again," and I become a detective in a film noir. "Exactly what time was the poop?" I ask. I wonder why this question is relevant. The teacher assembles a team of paraprofessionals; I hear testimony from several witnesses. "Runny." "It seemed to start to crawl up his back." I ponder: What is my face meant to do in this scene? What is being asked of me, here and now? In her memoir, Mary Rodgers advises all parents not to get too stressed about toilet training. "No one gets married in a diaper," she writes. "If someone *does* get married in a diaper....w...