Pisser anxiety

I don't like the word potty, but I don't think there's a way around it. I suggested to Julie that we instead call it the pisser, but she wasn't having it. "Lyla, before you get in the car, do you want to go to the pisser? Do you need to take a piss, honey?"

"Mama, I need to pee." That's almost just as bad. "I gotta go pee pee." Worse.

"Father, kindly park the car so I can enter this McDonald's and urinate." Nice but unrealistic.

But we're buying a little pisser for Lyla, likely with a picture of Elmo on it somewhere, hopefully not down in the bowl. Incidentally, I'm horrified at the prospect of emptying it. The child will unload her waste into it, and I'm supposed to do what, dump it all in the toilet? I could vomit just thinking about it. At least with a diaper there's the euphemism of the "dirty" diaper. "Oh, this diaper is dirty," I say to myself, and my mind connects to dirt, which is not gross.

"Hey Dan, Lyla just made a gigantic deuce in the potty, and it's your turn to scrape it out and dump it in the toilet."

I could die.

And then what? Do you wipe out the pisser with a rag or something? An old t-shirt? My stomach is turning. When Lyla's old enough to use the pisser, won't she be old enough to sanitize it, too?