My littlest one, Vivienne, a strong-willed four-year-old, sat on the potty in the bathroom. She grunted. She sang. She read wordless board books. And then, she started to cry.
All morning Viv had squirmed awkwardly while playing, laid her head down while nibbling on food she usually devoured, and instead of being generally pleasant, she was generally pretty terrible. By lunchtime, I insisted she spend some time in the bathroom.
I stood in the hallway when my oldest, Nadia, a looking-sixteen-but-she’s-really-twelve-year-old, asked, “What’s wrong with her?”
I, a very over it forty-year-old, said, “She needs to poop.”
“Are you sure?” Nadia asked.
I looked my oldest daughter in the eyes with a blank, almost stunned face. Am I sure? That’s the money question, child. Do you know how much I’m actually not sure of when it comes to parenting?
… my latest essay is up on Coffee+Crumbs where I write about the choices we make, the circumstances we find ourselves in, and the labels we give ourselves because of it all. Click here to read the rest of it!