Five years, five whole years. There’s nary I day in the passed five years that I haven’t put hand to child bum and wiped. Until this day. This day I announce:
I. Am. Free.
I’m passing the torch on to capable little hands and offering only moral support as my children take over the life-long responsibility of their own anal hygiene. I believe in you boys.
They’ll soon learn about things like crayola wipes and when to just give up on them, when not to pinch it off, proper toilet paper to poo ratios, the dreaded moment where you look in the toilet and think your anus is bleeding then just realize you had beet salad the night before. They’ll soon share the same enthusiasm we do when they have a clean wipe-er. The little joys in life.
I’m so happy to only have one bum to worry about: my own.
I told myself, long ago, that when this electrifying occasion finally came to fruition I would throw the biggest party I’ve every thrown. Unfortunately, I over-estimated my financial situation for this milestone and instead, I’ll just do a happy dance.
~~~~~~~~ does happy dance ~~~~~~~~~~
Bah, good news ruined with bad. I just saw Silas and his cheek is covered in hives. LOADED. He’s got Benedryl in him and is taking a shower. The only thing I can think of is my Starbucks because they suddenly have loads of peanuts in their baking now.
Throwing cup away.
But yay for no more wiping bums.