Someday when my daughter is older I will share this story with her. I will probably tell it when she’s a teenager and can’t stand the sight of me. Depending on her attitude, I may tell it in front of her boyfriend.
When you were two, almost three, you needed me to hold your hand while you pooped. I didn’t want to sit on a cold bathroom floor, but I did. I cupped your tiny fingers in the palm of my hand and we played silly games while you sat on the toilet. We made them up together. Your favorite was a game where I had to copy everything you said. We also sang songs and told stories. After you finished #2, I would applaud. The smile on your face was breathtaking. (Or maybe that was the odor emanating from the toilet.) Then, you would look into my eyes and whisper, “Thanks Mommy.”
I never thought I would look forward to watching someone use a toilet. It is proof that even during the shittiest moments motherhood is beautiful thing.
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