Cute? Yes. Misleading? YES.
"No," I corrected him. "It's the last trip for which you leave me alone with only two kids in my possession."
And so it is that I'm one gazbillion months pregnant and home with the two-year-old and the verge-of-four-year-old. But this story is not really about me, or Verge-of-Four, but about Two and how she likes to make my life extra interesting when Daddy's not around.
She has a toothpaste fetish--have I told you? It (unfortunately) is not rare to come across L, whenever the house is unnaturally quiet, sucking toothpaste straight from the tube. She will be the child who sucks helium, who snorts Whip-its, give me strength, because she sucks that tube with vigor and thrill dancing across her concentrating face. She sees a tube, and-- No, she sees a bathroom door, and needs a fix. Oh, Orajel Little Bear toothpaste, do your proprietary ingredients by any chance include opiates?
So she declares, Miss Independent, that she's going to use the potty. These declarations are about two months along now. At first we indulged her without taking her too seriously; after all approaching the potty is a reason for nudity. But we've lately paid more attention because if she announces I go use the potty! there is likely to be real elimination.
So she announced, and disappeared for longer than usual. After a few minutes I went to check on her and she was naykee as a jaybird, but not on the potty. She was standing on the stool in front of the sink. Dangling jauntily from the side of her mouth, not entirely unlike a spent cigarette, was a tube of toothpaste. Practically steaming behind her ankles was a fragrant poop plop.
I didn't make it, she lamented, gesturing with her hand towards the toothpaste tube by way of meager apology.
Doing my own fair share of lamenting, I agreed. "No, you didn't, love."
No, you didn't.