I don't remember the last time I wiped Lucy's butt. I imagine it was a long time ago considering she's six years old. But, seriously, we should have the date on a calendar. It's one of those last steps in the emancipation of a baby into childhood. I wish we knew the date so we could celebrate it every year. For a child, being born must be relatively easy. It's the mom doing all the work (why doesn't the mom get a party every year on the birthday instead of the kid?). You just make your way into the world when ready. But, wiping your butt. That's huge.
Paige doesn't wipe her own butt right now. My unfortunate unemployment situation has come in the middle of potty training. She was going to the potty every 30 minutes at daycare. They had her pee trained. This kid knows when she has to pee, asks to pee and screams at you if you want to take her pee when it's not necessary in her eyes. She's a master pee-er (yup, new word). But, the poop, oh the poop.
Here is how it goes. Paige wake up from her nap around 2-2:30 most days. She wears a diaper when sleeping, so when she gets up she knows to go potty to earn back her Rapunzel underwear (nothing else has the fortune of gracing her backside). Then, the process begins. She says her "bottom" hurts and she sits on the potty. Nothing. She plays for three minutes, starts whining, agrees to go back to the bathroom, sits and nothing. This happens two to three more times in a half-hour stretch. Every time ending with her proclaiming she "can't poop on the potty." I offer candy, money, my sanity - nothing works.
She eventually asks to be put in a pull-up diaper (which is just a diaper attached on the sides and costs twice as much), then scurries off to the bowels of our house (I've been waiting to use that pun) and poops with no one else around. Paige announces she has done the deed, which doesn't need any fanfare considering the house now smells like a barn. And that's it. We go back to our lives. And by "back to our lives" I mean I immediately rush outside to the trash barrel with my arm extended as far away from my nose as possible.
My singular goal of this unexpected time we have together is to get Paige to poop on the potty. And, yes, I'm a 36-year-old publishing professional with almost 15 years of experience who is still paying the tail end of student loans and all I want in this world at this immediate moment is for a person who lives in my house to poop where the rest of us do.
What will come first - my new job or Paige pooping on the potty? The excitement is building ... what has become of me?