This is the routine when Nora tells me she has to go potty: We walk quickly (no running, it freaks her out) to the bathroom. I pull down her pants and lift her onto the big toilet. (She finds potty chairs insulting.) I sit across from her on a little stool Ben and Nora built together. She pees. If she poops, it can take awhile (she eats loads of fiber). It is the perfect time for bonding. Light streams in through the bathroom window and her big blue eyes practically glow. We talk about things: chickens, her friend Otto from school, what seeds we’d like to plant in the garden. Sometimes we sit forehead to forehead, smooching. Then I hear a plop sound.
“Is it time to wipe?” I ask.
“I’m still pooping,” she says, brow furrowed. So we talk some more. Sometimes I get a little teary. She’s so beautiful. So fun to talk to.
For the record, I may be a sentimental freak who can cry tears of joy while sitting in a room that reaks of human waste, but this doesn’t happen to only me. Ben has had this experience with her, too. On more than one occasion, he comes out the the bathroom with her and gives me the “Sue, our daughter is amazing.”
At daycare, she goes to the bathroom, pulls down her pants, sits on the toilet, wipes, flushes and washes her hands with little to no assistance. When I try to get her to do this at home, she say, “I want you to do it.” I think she likes the bathroom bonding time as much as I do. But I am glad it’s warming up outside, so I can crack the window.