For some reason, I woke up around 4 am this morning and just could not get back to sleep, which meant, of course, that E (who was 3.5 at the time) slept “late” until 7:30am. I was working in my office when I heard her door open and she glanced at me and kept on truckin’ her little self past me and all the way downstairs. I listened for a minute and then heard, “Mommy! MOMMMMAAAYY! I had an accident.” I went downstairs to find her standing in front of the potty, undies about mid-shin, in, NO KIDDING, 3 feet of pee. She just started sleeping without Pull-Ups a few weeks ago and this was her very first “accident” although I did ask her why the F she walked all the way downstairs to pee instead of using her bathroom. She is so lucky. She’s 3 and has her own bathroom. I don’t even have my own bathroom.
So I decided to head off this morning’s tantrum by suggesting we take a shower to get washed off and because she loves to take showers. I should point out that E is quite the keen observer of all things that exist ever anywhere at all. She can be very complimentary, too, and I’ll take that wherever I can get it. A few weeks ago we were getting into the shower and she reached up, poked my chest and said, “I LOVE your big boobies.” HELLO. It’s been DAYS since I’ve heard that. “Well, thank you, baby, that’s very sweet.” And then, “um, Mommy? When I get 20 could I have big boobies, too?” Ask your father.
Once we’re actually IN the shower, E grumpily asks me if I could please stop blocking the rain. Every 6 seconds. Because, apparently, my big fat grown-up ass hogs all the water. So basically I have about 2-3 minutes to fully complete my showering routine before E decides I’m finished now (“Mommy, could you get out now?”) and continues with her shower. I stay in the bathroom with her the whole time and get dressed and ready while spending the next 30 minutes trying to convince her to get OUT of the shower. I am mostly not successful in this endeavor. E started this morning’s shower off by purposely hitting my unclothed bottom with her forehead and saying “bonk bonk bonk” and then “butt butt butt” and then requested I do the same to her. Seriously. With my forehead. On her butt. Okay, yes, I did it.
After I was kicked out of the shower, I put on the standard bra and undies (and by that, I of course mean MATCHING ones, from, like, somewhere other than Target or Walmart) and am putting lotion on my face, when E yells from the (clear glass) shower: “Mommy!” Yes, baby? “You have a wedge.” I turn around and look in the mirror. “Okay, thank you, baby.” A minute later: “Mommy! You still have a wedge!” So I explain: “They’re made this way on purpose, sweetie.” She considers that for a moment. “Oh. It looks twisted.” And that was it. I decided to assume “twisted” referred to my underpants and not my big fat grown-up ass.
After a somewhat unrelated mini-tantrum, we’re in her room and she puts on her underpants, sticks her bottom out and turns her head to look at the back of her undies. “Mommy, I have on THESE kind of underpants. What kind are those called?” It’s not like it’s a bad word, so I say, “this kind is called a ‘thong’ and grown-ups wear them.” Which is when she walked behind me and plucked my thong like a violin string and started singing, “thongy thongy thongy."
I think we might have a song writer in the family.
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