“I think Unicornia wants to poop on your face.”

I sigh. It’s been a long day. “Sweetie,” I say, “that’s not very nice, and frankly, it’s kind of gross.”

“Aw dad, it’s not real poop. It’s only for pretends.”

“I know, but it’s still not nice to talk about pooping on someone’s face.”

“I’m not pooping. It’s Unicornia.”

“Yes, yes, I know that. But it’s still not nice.” There’s a pause, a break in the battle of wits I’m bound to keep losing until I go senile and quit trying.

“Dad, where do real animals poop?”

“They poop outside. Now go to sleep.”

She giggles, “In a potty outside?”

“No kiddo, they just poop…around.”

“Anywhere they want?”

“Yep.”

“Wherever they want?”

“Yes. Anywhere. Now go to sleep.”

“Oh. Anywhere. I get it.”

“Good.”

“Like your face.” And she laughs and laughs.

I just sigh. That’s parenthood.