Everybody Poops

I didn't realize that potty training my toddler instantly signed me up to be potty trained BY my daughter. I came to the conclusion fairly quickly that every single tactic, bribe and stall method I used to help my child along in the potty training process would be used every time I needed some private time of my own. I decided to stop telling Emmy where I was disappearing off to, knowing full well she would come find me the very second she realized I was not catering to her every need. I just hope that I can get done before she comes knocking at my door.

I don't think men realize how good they've got it. Sitting quietly with their magazine, book, nintendo ds, or whatever. The girls NEVER go looking for Mike. He could be gone 30 minutes or longer and they don't realize he's gone. I leave the room for 30 seconds and I hear a chorus of "Mommy? Mom? Mama? Where are you?"

Emmy: "Oh Mommy! There you are! You go potty?"
Me: "No honey. Mommy go poopy. Go watch your show."
Emmy: "I'll get a book. You need a book."

You must understand that poor Emmy has almost always had problems with the ol' number 2. Poor girl gets constipated like you wouldn't believe. After being pregnant with Brinley, who decided to lay on my colon instead of my bladder, I feel her pain. Literally. So we engage all means necessary to coax it out of her. I usually end up sitting on one of her mini princess chairs with a pile of books trying to distract her long enough to get the softball sized poop out. (It's quite impressive really. I know my Papa would be proud of it if he were still alive.) The process usually ends with quite a bit of fanfare on our part. Clapping and cheering and so forth. So when I heard, "I'll go get a book" I knew what I was in for.

Emmy: "OK Mommy, which one are we going to read first?"
Me: "Oh honey, I don't need a book, please go watch your show."
Emmy (not listening at all): "Read this one first Mama."

"This is a good one, Mama. You read it to me."

Next thing I know, Brinley has entered the equation. As a 19 month old, she is curious about what goes on with that thing we sit on. She's fascinated with the toilet paper. She keeps pulling it off the roll and trying to wipe me before jamming it between my legs into the bowl. We've gone through almost a quarter of a roll. I'm thinking "Where in the world is Mike!?!" Because I would never attempt to actually have some time to myself in the bathroom without someone to run interference! Oh, there he is, standing in the doorway supervising. PERFECT place to be. I think he enjoys the show. I can see amusement in his face.

"Here's the TP, Mama. What's it for anyway?"

Yes, yes, yes, these moments are to be treasured. Blah Blah Blah. I JUST WANT 5 MINUTES ALONE TO POOP! But, instead, I'm reading Dinosaurumpus to two little girls and very glad I'm not anywhere in public. Picture Emmy and I in a stall at Jose Peppers during the dinner rush. Oh, and keep in mind, Emmy has a set of pipes like her mother and has NO IDEA how to turn the volume down...

Emmy: "You go poopy Mama?"
Me: "No honey, just potty"
Emmy: "Make sure you wipe good Mama"
Me: "Thanks baby"
Emmy: "You're welcome"
Emmy: "All done?"
Me: "Yes dear"
Emmy: "GREAT JOB MAMA! Make sure you flush."