Last night I was running a bath, trying to take advantage of a rare opportunity to speed shave my legs. Deep beneath the sound of the running water, I could already hear someone wailing.
It’s atomic level bawling.
A toddler recovering after getting karate chopped in the throat.
I rush to see what’s wrong and my husband informs me that my son has just taken a naked shit on the carpet in his bedroom.
Okay, now THIS has to be the worst part of potty training. It’s shag, y’all. NOT COOL.
I ask my husband, “You’re the one cleaning up poop, so why is HE crying?”
Apparently, he was incredibly disturbed by the poop on the carpet. I tried to comfort him.
“Just aim for the potty next time, bud.”
But, this begs the question… why are the kids crying all the time? It’s been months since I first posted my rant about the perpetual crying in my household. We are NO closer to quietude.
I would like to experience toddlerhood again, just to see how much I could get away with. (Except for pooping on the floor. That would just be weird.)
Here’s how my day would go:
Alarm goes off: Audible groaning, grows into full-blown crying.
Husband bathes me while I refuse to sit still, do whatever the hell I want and splash him like a jackass.
I demand what I want for breakfast, then bitch about how long it’s taking him to cook it.
I decide I’m full after a few bites and tell him to get his ass back over to take my plate away.
He chaffeurs me to work and I complain during the drive about whatever he puts on the radio and talk his ear off.
At work, I will doodle, listen to music and bite anyone who tries to take my chair. I will nap for two hours. A manager will provide me with snacks.
My husband will drive me back home. At this point, I will probably be hungry and tired again so I will bitch him out and get loud without explanation.
When we walk in the door, I will instantly demand food, drink, my favorite movie and he HAS to sit next to me during all of it. He must shovel food into my mouth, take chunks of ice out of my cup and remove my shoes if I am inclined to relax barefoot.
My husband will ask how my day was. I will blatantly ignore him.
He will ask again. I will respond by saying something that makes ABSOLUTELY no sense.
I will stay up until I’m exhausted and then scream and kick my feet when it’s time for bed. My husband will read to me. I won’t let him stop reading to me. I will make him get me water, another snack, a blanket to cover me with and then I will interrupt whatever he is watching on television repeatedly for an hour.
When that pisses him off, I will throw an epic tantrum, throw things across the room and tell him I don’t like him anymore.
Then, I will fall asleep and dream peacefully for 12 HOURS.