Battlefield Potty

Operation Chill Baby Junk failed miserably.  Only mild discomfort.  Feel the need to drive to Huggies headquarters and sucker punch CEO.  Aggressive measures need to be taken.  War is imminent. 

Day 1.
Enemy has dirty diaper and must be changed.  While distracted, I slipped underwear on the enemy, signally the beginning of the war campaign.  Stealthy move was successful.  Enemy did not realize Mom had launched war until underpants were brought to attention.  Enemy engaged in vigorous negotiations.  Mom's war spanks are on so tightly that they cannot be removed.  War is now reality.  Beach towels and blankets are draped over furniture and area rug for preservation.  Potty relocated to living room.  There is no turning back.

The enemy struck back with great vigor.  Stood beside potty several times and soiled underpants in protest.  Psychological tactics employed by both fronts.  I captured enemy's tractors and have placed them in confinement until proper disposal occurs.  Enemy cracked once tractors were taken hostage.  He did find satisfaction in peeing on Fruit Loops in the potty.  Box of Fruit Loops will remain in bathroom.  I feel exhausted.  I believe the enemy is trying to drive me insane.

Day 2.
Battle resumes early a.m.  Forced Fruit Loop target practice.  More setbacks.  Sneak attack.  Enemy tries to take out potty by dumping entire box of Fruit Loops and flushing.  Reports potty broken and in need of Water Doctor.  Extra flushing fixed issue.  Back up box of Cheerios employed.  Wish I had ordered more underwear.  Made enemy spend time naked until willing to deposit in potty.  This bought time for me to clean underwear.  Naked was more than enemy could stand.  Won right to wear clothes.  Clothes clean for now.  Spider Man was contacted about successful negotiations and called to praise the enemy for his successful potty deposits.  Went online and ordered Spider Man undies.  Should have rushed delivery.

Day 3.
Enemy has softened stance against potty.  Now is embracing target practice.  Mom is considering taking off war spanks.  May need help with removal. They may have meshed into her skin.  Furniture is uncovered.  War may be ending soon.  Tractors were released to the enemy.  Cuddles were received by the Mommy.  Enjoyed cuddles.  Still exhausted.  Training my rat to run a maze in one of my psychology classes was easier than this.  May need spa treatment.

Day 4.
Truce is declared.  Enemy now termed Bubby.  Will continue underwear.  Mom is joyful over money saved now that diapers are not needed.  May invest in more coffee.

Lack of Bathroom Bliss

Why is it every time a mother has to answer the call of nature, the children think it is a group therapy session?  If there is ever a time when you need peace, this is most definitely it.  My son can be completely tuned into a TV program, constructing/deconstructing something, whatever, and if I make any movements towards the bathroom, he is on my heels.  The only time I find peace in that sacred room of the house is if he takes a nap.  The minute I lay him down on his bed, I am bolting to the shower, stripping down as I go.  Oh, the wonderful solitude of a shower!  Oh, the beautiful sound of the water beating down and the sight of the steam misting up!  Oh, THE RARITY OF THIS MOMENT!  Why is this a big deal?  Oh, let me explain...

Normally, my showers end up like this...rush to the bathroom, strip down, while water heats up, step inside, try to wash face while holding the shower door shut.  "No, RJ! It isn't your turn! No, it isn't slippy time in the shower---"  Let me explain slippy time.  When my son finally figured out how to open the shower door, he hatched a plan to severely injure or kill me.  He waited for my shower to begin, stripped down and decided to join me.  When two year olds get wet, they are like slippery explosions.  You can't catch them.  All you can do is survive them.  He slipped all over the bottom of the shower trying to escape being thrown out, and I ended up falling out of the shower onto the cold tile floor.  He thought it was a fun game and now refers to it as slippy time.  When he isn't trying to have slippy time, he is trying to help me by placing odd objects in the floor of the shower.  This can be dangerous especially if the shampoo attacks your eyeballs while trying to explain that you really don't need that backhoe to assist with bodily cleansing.  I am feeling nodding heads on the other side of this screen!  I feel you sisters!

One of my worst bathroom experiences involved food poisoning.  RJ was about 18 months old at the time.  Richie and I went to a restaurant and I enjoyed a shrimp dish.  I did not realize the shrimp were bad until about maybe an hour later.  As I sat on my toilet, sweat beads running off my face, having lower intestinal feelings that brought to mind volcanic eruptions of the largest scale, my sweet child climbed on my lap.  He stood on my shaking knees, caressed my sweat drenched face, and then started beating me on the top of the head like I was a kettle drum.  There was nothing I could do!  NOTHING!  I needed every bit of my strength to keep from falling over.

If you know me well, you know I have a sharing spirit.  So, I am now trying to share these types of experiences with my husband.  As soon as I know he has entered the shower, "Oh, RJ!  Da-da is in the shower!"  Those little feet bolt for the bathroom.  Okay, so maybe it isn't sharing.  Like they say, misery loves company!