When Fiddledaddy picked the kids up from the play center at our gym yesterday, he was alerted to the fact that Jensen was found in the bathroom, naked from the waist down.
Now, that in and of itself is not unusual. Since Jensen has a penchant for dropping trow in unlikely places, at unfortunate times.
It seems, that the staff caught him attempted to poop on the floor drain, in the bathroom. And then he used considerable energy explaining to the staff why that would be appropriate. It is a drain. It is for pooping, after all.
Another proud parenting moment, brought to us courtesy of one 3 year old.
On other occasions, one of the caregivers at this play center, informed me that she was penning a book, aptly titled, “Conversations With Jensen In The Bathroom.”
Like most men, I suppose, much of Jensen’s best thinking is done in the bathroom. And it is the ideal locale to pontificate at length about all the inner workings of all things plumbing related.
That belonging to the bathroom, and to Jensen.
Fascinating stuff, really.
We’ve now instructed the staff that Jensen should never be left alone in the bathroom. Ever. The bathroom is a veritable cornucopia of fun for a water loving 3 year old. It took me a sweet forever to break him of the unsavory habit that involved sticking his head into the toilet. Because he loved to watch the water swirling around. Up close. And he has been known to lick the seat. A visual I will never ever be able to erase from my mind.
I dread taking the child shopping, because public restrooms hold a particular fascination for him. No matter where we are, or how many groceries I have loaded into the cart, he will suddenly announce to me, and any patrons within shouting distance, “MOMMY! I HAVE TO POOP! NOW, MOMMY. I NEED TO POOP NOW!” And somehow, I’m always at the far end of the store, a good 15 miles from the bathrooms.
And you know, because I am a sucker, I always fall for it. And dutifully aim the cart in the direction of the ladies restroom. I then sprint the 15 miles to get there in time, park the cart, and pry him out of the seat. I then get Jensen set up on his throne, only to have him give me an impish grin, while he bats impossibly long eyelashes in my direction “I change my mind, mommy.”
And then my head falls off of my shoulders, and rolls down the drain. Where the poop belongs.
I thought that FINALLY getting my last child out of diapers would simplify my life. In celebration I even did a victory dance when I threw the Diaper Genie on the trash pile. Much to my neighbor’s horror.
Suddenly, Pampers are looking very very good to me.
Please tell me this is a phase, and it will get easier…