I can confirm. Atilla does understand when he needs to poop, and to tell us so.
Evidence: we were at Hong Kong airport, and he was happily playing when he suddenly became perturbed.
"What's wrong, honey?"
"Poo-oop," he declaimed worriedly.
"Okay sweetie, give your biscuit to Daddy."
Daddy volunteered to take Atilla to the male toilets. What a hero!
***
Report back.
The loos are splendid things, though oddly shaped. Atilla made a great set of poop, as he was held over the toilet seat. And more importantly, he held onto his biscuit at all times, not once dropping it anywhere.
The Folly Of Impermanence.
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*“You talking about me?”** The neoliberal denigration of the past was
nowhere more unrelenting than in its depiction of the public service. The
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