Progenitor of the Bashful Bumhole

My brother Ollie and his son Caleb. One of these photos was taken in 1990; the other, last year. Guess which! Guess who!

CW: 50ftcl.it/baby-poo

Being pooed on apparently signifies respect and reverence and prestige unparalleled! Or so I hear. I’m in San Francisco. I’m meeting my delightful wee nephew Caleb for the first time ever. Two days ago we had his 2nd birthday party. Four days ago he’d had no idea of even my existence I don’t think, and upon my appearance in his house, he recoiled and he skulked and he squirmed. This is honestly not that unreasonable a reaction, for I’d been spectacularly jetlagged. My eyes were so bloodshot that I’d forgive Potterversers for mistaking me for a particularly crap Voldemort cosplay.

But Caleb soon warmed. Within the day he was smiling and waving, fist-bumping, demanding tummy-tickles, demanding pushes in his multiple toy cars, demanding pushes on his tricycle birthday present; he’s quite an obstinate little madarm! Soon he was happily sitting on my knee whilst I worked on my computer, and he and I watched adorable-animal videos.

Yesterday, though, something felt off. Literally. He was sitting on my knee and shrieking with laughter at Youtube’s latest kitten-y shenanigans, when I sensed a squidgy little something happen between thigh and bum. I hit Pause and carried him rather gingerly to his nearest parent, his mum and/or mom Jenni, figuring that I’d surely need to learn how to change nappies and/or diapers eventually, though perhaps at a time of my choosing and not his.

She appeared visibly surprised, though at the time I didn’t ask why. Last night she informed me. As you might imagine, the parents and/or guardians of nappy users soak up every last little detail and nuance of the users’ daily poo schedules bloody fast. Jenni told me that Caleb apparently despises pooing before an audience, and always seeks out the nearest solitary corner before letting rip. Bashful bumhole? Jenni had had zero problem with this, all was well, but had figured this habit would be permanent.

Until now. Colour me astonished! And honoured! Apparently this is a sign that Caleb trusts me implicitly, and in my presence has now become utterly at ease. He’ll poo at his leisure. Jenni also assures me that his hourly projectile vomiting is an honour greater still.

PS For a little while I’d honestly felt rather chuffed that I’d discovered that “bashful bumhole” was apparently a Thing for toddlers … until I googled it.

Zero results! Turns out I’ve invented it!

PPS Googling “bashful butthole” returns four results but they’re all porn.

PPPS Google also saw fit to include a fifth result, but for “shy ass”.

Turns out Caleb adores sitting on my left thigh and gobbling hour after hour after hour of funny-animal compilation videos. And I think that is totally reasonable. Who doesn’t love cute animals? Next time I’ll growl at him that it’s high dang time he stopped hogging the seat real estate and let me perhaps have a go on his left thigh. Or both at once, why not?

Me, my brother Ollie, and on his hip is his son and my nephew Caleb.

Caleb with Liz, my mother and his grandmother. This photo represents the best part of an hour of sterling gastronomic Nan-work on Liz’s part. 95% of my toddler-wrangling experiences within the last decade have been in the last four days. I’d had no idea toddlers had such capacity to balance overt and deafening screeching with subtle psychological manipulation. Especially when convincing his neighbours his meal’s yucky-food is trauma itself but its yummy-food is exquisite ambrosia and without the latter he shall surely perish instantly. He’s an adorable wee sociopath. Liz saw right through that crap and struck a phenomenal balance between an actual balanced meal and keeping Caleb all smiles. I suspect she’d received all the expertise in this arena she’d ever need by raising me.

An actual proper official-ish posed photo! This time with both his parents, Ollie and Jenni, on his birthday … and at the exact minute of his birth, 7:15pm. Delightful-*looking* back yard, ain’t it? In all fairness, it absolutely is. But by this point, the party had been going on for over six hours. I’m writing this two days later and I’m still a bit hung over (though I should emphasise that’s zilch to do with anyone but moi). You know the Pyramids of Giza? There’s a reason you only ever see tourism publicity shots from a few incredibly specific angles and that’s it. This kind of thing: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Pyramid_of_Giza... Ever seen their other side? Behold: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giza_Plateau... This may give you some concept of the brouhaha directly behind me. Picture six continuous hours of the boulder scene from Raiders Of The Lost Ark, 50ftcl.it/boulder, but, like, even more boisterous. … By a delightful coincidence, two hours later I also encountered this: https://www.reddit.com/.../the_other_side_of_the.../