You know the one, right?
Where the mom writes about how difficult life is, and that there is no longer any privacy and we all poop in front of an audience, or are being an audience for a tiny pooper?
Yeah. You know the one.
I guess it is something of a right of passage. A passage through which I am going to pass today (no pun intended). Here it goes:
So I was sitting on the toilet one morning last week, and my daughter barged, stark-naked, into the bathroom.
She’s four, and has not yet mastered the fine art of knocking, or allowing people their privacy, or as she would say “pwivacy.”
“Hey, Emily!” I bellowed. “Can I have a little privacy here?”
She stood there, considering my request.
She then began to shake her tiny tush at me like an agitated squirrel.
“I’ve got a yittle pwivacy for you!” She hollered as she giggled and wiggled her actual little privacy area at me. Let the record reflect I laughed and she walked away shaking her booty and did not shut the door.
So there you have it folks. My potty post.
It is nice to know I am in such good company.