Sunday, May 24, 2009
If you could get back to me by July 4th that'd be super
I hope you’re having a good Memorial Day weekend.
Now that I’ve got you all buttered up, I need to ask your advice. I swear I didn’t start this blog so I could talk about all things bathroom, but Junior’s nearing two years old and you-know-what is right around the corner.
(In case you-don’t-know-what because you’re drunk on beerdogs and Miller Lite, Junior may soon be able to use the bathroom on his own that’s what.)
Recently I’ve begun to think that Chuck and I may have taken the wrong approach to demonstrating to Junior what the bathroom is for. I didn’t want the bathroom to be a top secret room because I worried Junior would have toilet anxiety, so we’ve had an open door policy.
Perhaps too open door.
Today when I was in the bathroom, Junior shoved open the door and started throwing tennis balls at me. Have you ever fielded a tennis ball while on the can? I don’t recommend it.
And lately when guests come over and need to use the downstairs bathroom, which is off the kitchen, Junior will try to push open the door. Then he’ll stand there and shout, “[Insert name] is peein’! “[Insert name] is peein’!”
Guests don’t like to be spotlighted while doing their business. It’s bad enough the bathroom is off the kitchen and you have to clang pots and pans around so they don’t think you’re paying attention because they’ve been in there for 20 minutes and you hope to God they’re not dropping the kids off at your pool because, ew, who does that at someone else’s house but geez, do we really need a toddler providing minute-by-minute commentary?
I could google “potty training” but I know that you, my sexy, astute and sage readers (mmmm, butter goodness) have gems of wisdom to share. Does our household need more bathroom boundaries? Like, should the bathroom be a private, shrouded sanctuary that requires a secret knock? Or do you want your kid to know that the toilet is, well, a toilet and not a magic portal to Jupiter?
I really don’t want Junior bursting into his high school locker room shouting, “[Insert name] is peein’! [Insert name] is peein’!” but like my banner says, I’m a new mom, and like any new parent I obsessively worry that every decision I make might be the one that turns my child into a freak.
I hope you’re having a good Memorial Day weekend. Really.
(I am too, except for the tennis ball bruises on my leg.)
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