Sleep Walker

So it’s been a hot minute since I posted something wise and insightful for all you mommies out there. I mean, pretty sure I’ve NEVER posted anything wise and insightful on this here blog given I have no clue what I’m doing over here in the parenting department but anywho yesterday I said I was gonna blog so here I am doing it, a day late… go figure.
In the almost six months since I last posted my kid has started school (ER-MA-GAWD) and boycotted sleeping. We went from bragging about how badass of a sleeper she was to dealing with an ass who’s sleeping is bad. I’m preeeeeetty sure that’s called karma but I could be wrong. 

I dont want to point the finger here (finger directly pointed at my husband) but Em was sleeping perfectly fine until I took a fantastic girls weekend (AKA mommymoon) and left her with el Daddio. P.S. That was in July. In his survival mode state he let her sleep in our bed all weekend and whatdayaknow she kind of liked it! So now we’re stuck negotiating with her every night, like a freaking terrorist, trying to get her to sleep in her own effin bed that she “DOESN’T YIKE!” 

Promptly upon my return I started tough and laid the hammer down. I told her she was sleeping in her bed and that was that! I felt strong, Momma was home and shit was going back to normal. Then after about 15 minutes of her yelling “MOMMY’S MEEM, I WANT DADDY!” I caved and told her she could lay in our bed for “FIVE MINUTES and then she had to sleep in her bed.” Well five minutes turned into 10, and 10 into 20 and before I knew it she was sleeping in the damn bed with us for 3 weeks straight. Now if you have never slept in the bed with a toddler, consider yourself lucky. It’s like sleeping next to that very drunk best friend you had to take care of in college. You know the one that keeps randomly throwing karate kicks and high V’s all night. And if you’re reaaaally lucky they’ll give you a 3am bed pissing to get your blood flowing. The best part is that I would wake up halfway through the night to find my adorable husband had snuck off to the guest room and left me with the kickboxing queen. I mean he only created this situation, why stick around when it gets tough. After a week or two of getting the shit beat out of me I decided I couldn’t do it anymore and I told her I would lay with her in her bed but she could not lay in ours. Not sure who I was punishing with that one but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I laid in her bed till she fell asleep and then snuck out. Well as soon as she would wake up and realize I wasn’t there, she would come get me and then the cycle would repeat. ALL.NIGHT.LONG! And now instead of getting beat up all night long I’m dealing with her tiny ass creeping into my room and scaring the piss out of me every two hours. 

I don’t care what anyone says there is nothing scarier than being woken up out of a dead sleep to a small child standing next to your bed staring at you. The other night, in the pitch dark she came crawling, CRAW-LING into my room, with her long dark hair and I swear to God I thought I was about to get swallowed up like in that movie The Grudge. 

Me: (Gasping and possibly pissing myself) Em hun, you gotta get up.

Emmie: Why?

Me: Because you’re really creeping mommy out.

Each night I say I’m gonna do it and stick to my guns, tonight is the night I stand firm and won’t let her sleep in our room and then 3 am rolls around and in my half asleep stupor I fling her into our bed and wave the white flag. Because shitty sleep is still better than no sleep. But tonight, well tonight… I think I may just have to sneak off to that magical guest room and leave the creepy little wake up calls to the instigator himself.

I mean, you can’t help Karma people…

just ask Brad Pitt. 😉

Crying in the Cart

Two is the age that everybody warns you about and you sort of nod your head and think “that won’t be my sweet little darling” until the day comes and right before your very eyes your innocent princess turns into a little a-hole. Yes, I just called my kid an a-hole because honestly 50% of the time these days thats exactly what she acts like. Two is an evil age that sucks the very being out of your child and makes them act like they have been possessed.

Case in point, the other day I went to the grocery store with Em and she happened to see one of those massive carts with the car attached to the front. You the know the ones… they have the tiny ass cart attached and no room for groceries because the car is so effing huge. And navigating them around a grocery store is near impossible so you end up knocking shit off the shelves left and right. Evidently a man designed that thing, you know, “the bigger, the better!” Well she saw one. And then just as quickly as she saw it a lady and her son grabbed it. I immediately did a happy dance in my head for dodging the “car cart” shopping trip but my happiness faded seconds later when I realized I was dealing with a stage 5 meltdown.

Now, I debated leaving but we were out of milk… and ice cream so it was necessity. I pulled out all of my tricks, lollipops, the iPad, I said I would get her something “reaaaaaaaally cool” from the grocery store if she stopped crying but she was still pissed. I started to try and put her in the regular old cart at this point and she went completely straight leg on me. It was like trying to work a jackhammer. Moms are walking by and giving me the “your kid is terrible” look and then moms (with a-hole toddlers too) are giving me the “been there done that” look.. I finally got her into the cart and at this point I am sweating… its 32 degrees out and I was stripping in front of the Harris Teeter.

We start walking in and she sees those effing gumball machines with toys inside them and starts screaming that she “NEEDS ONE” I know I’m not supposed to cave to this behavior but I really just wanted to get into the damn store at this point so I start digging in my purse. I was struggling to find a quarter when a man handed me one. How sweet huh? He must’ve witnessed “cart-gate” and felt sorry for me.  I let her pick and we got the toy and life was good again. I even managed to make it halfway through the store without any more incidents until it happened … we ran into the damn “Car Cart” and just like that all of the trauma came rushing back to her. She screamed the rest of  the time until I got her back into the car and then like magic she was fine. The “car cart” brings out the evil in my child.

I’ve decided that in the future when I go grocery shopping, I am going to bring lots of quarters…

and a blind fold!

Zip it

I’m fairly confident that Em is on the hunt for new parents. It’s not that I think she doesn’t love us but based on her desperate need to make me look like a terribly inept mother I am convinced she is just trying to have CPS come and take her ass away to a home that has more kids, a mom that cooks better or just is generally more fun.

It’s no secret that Emmie suffers from some pretty hardcore constipation issues. Well when your daughter gets clogged up more often than the men’s restroom at Ben’s Chili Bowl you start to acquire a certain set of skills. A set of skills that make me a nightmare for stubborn poo like the kind that loves to inhabit my daughters bottom (somehow that just doesnt work the same way it did for Liam Neemson). Anyway, me being the amazing mom that I am, I often have to roll up my sleeves and go where no mom should ever have to go… you know “the darkside”. I’m talking enemas people. It’s not uncommon for a poo to get stuck and my girl to be in such pain that I “mom up” and do what all glamorous housewives do, I get that shit out. See what I did there?

Well last week, we were dealing with a particularly “BIG ONE” as Em referred to it and I did what I had to, to continue my reign as fanciest mom ever. That night when Bobby got home from work she promptly told him all about the days activities —

Bobby: “Hi Baby, how was your day?”
Emmie: “Momma got the poo poo out!”
Bobby: “Oh, that’s nice.”

Fast-forward a few days and Em was still fixated on my epic retrieval. As we were checking out at the Harris Teeter she decided that it was the perfect time to tell our local grocer all about my special skills. “Momma got the poo poo out! My momma got the poo poo out! It was a BIG ONE!” The look of disgust on the poor boys face was priceless as he tried to figure out why those words would ever need to be spoken by a person. I laughed nervously and tried to mumble something about how kids have the wildest imaginations but I know he knew I was full of shit (pun intended) and just some big weirdo who must be infatuated with my kids crap. I made a mental note of what he looked like so as to never go to that register again. Or at least a few weeks, until the shame of this ordeal had passed and perhaps he had forgotten what we looked like. Although that is unlikely.

Just as I was recovering from Poogate, this past Monday as I was rushing to get Emmie out the door so we could make it to an appointment on time (HAH! “on time”). I accidentally hit her in the face with my arm as I was putting her coat on. She was fine and she she didnt cry so I looked at her and said “I’m sorry honey. Mommy didnt mean to hit you. That was an accident.” She said “ok” and I told her she was so “strong and brave”. All was well with the world and we moved on. Or so I thought.

Once we got to my doctor’s office to check in the receptionist started telling Em how adorable she was and asking her some questions. I immediately braced myself for anything because these days Emmie is a walking “Kids say the darndest things” episode. The lady asked her how old she was and what was her name. And before I knew what happened Emmie looked straight at her and said “My mommy hit me!” I looked up and the receptionist was staring straight at me like THROUGH MY SOUL… I was horrified. I immediately started to explain the story and I kept saying things like “right Emmie?” “Isn’t that what happened?” The guilt was written all over my face and I was sure that she was dialing 911 under the table. Hoping that Emmie would corroborate my story I started to laugh nervously and feed Emmie some different lines about how “mommy didnt’t REALLY hit her.”  But Emmie stood silent…. until she wasn’t silent. Because then she said it again “Mommy hit me in my face, but I not cry. I brave!”

After the worlds most awkward doctor’s appointment we made it home and surprisingly CPS was not waiting for me as I pulled into the driveway. I decided it was probably time to explain to Emerson that sometimes we don’t repeat EVERYTHING momma says because sometimes it can come out differently then what we mean to say. 

Then we also talked about how perhaps MOMMY was really the brave one that day … you know for continuing to take her out in public.

Hats Off

A few weeks ago while I was putting away some of Emmie’s Christmas gifts in her closet (ok so I procrastinated so what!) she noticed one of her Summer hats. This wasn’t a NEW hat. It wasn’t anything particularly ornate but for some reason or another it struck her fancy and she popped it on her head. A few hours later as we were getting ready to go outside and play I asked her if she wanted to leave the hat inside, you know to keep it “safe”. She replied in a very matter of factly “NOOOO!” and that was that.

Fast forward a few weeks and the hat is still here. She went 4 straight weeks in that damn hat. We slept in it. We bathed in it. We jumped it in. We ate in it. What began as a fedora transformed into a bit of a bowler. The hat had taken on an entirely different shape.

Just so you can fully grasp the severity of the situation here are some pictures as proof of the obsession:

   
    
    
    
    
  
I have tried on a number of occasions to swap the original hat out for a newer more constructed one but eventually the ole’ “Cowboy Hat” (as she refers to it) comes poppin’ back out. A couple of times she has been in the middle of doing something, stopped dead in her tracks, reached up and felt her head and screamed “MYYYYYY HAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTT??????” The sheer terror in her voice tells me this is not a joke and regardless of what I am doing…. cooking dinner; showering; going to the bathroom…. I must retrieve said hat.

When the evil Snowzilla reared her head the hat briefly took a break and an Elsa dress appeared in it’s place. Not sure which one I preferred. The dress was pretty disgusting by day 3 and she refused to give me a moment to wash it. So I honestly was a bit relieved when on day 6 the trusty hat made its way back into the daily mix.

I’m fairly certain she will be wearing this hat when she starts Pre-K next year (waaaaaaah!) and when she celebrates her 3rd Birthday in November. And its even quite possible that it makes it all the way to Christmas.

That is unless that ole’ cowboy hat just happens to “accidentally” get stuffed faaaar back into the closet somewhere. But then let’s hope that bitch Elsa doesn’t show back up.

Craptastic

The last week or two has been far from glamorous over here. Both of my main girls are having some serious booty issues. If you follow the blog you know that Em is no stranger to the enema and being “clogged up”. I’ve been fighting that fight since she was a just a small nugget. It’s gotten a lot better as she’s gotten bigger and been eating solid foods but she still has her days. While we were at the beach with the family over the 4th, well one of those days happened to REAR its ugly head.  (see what I did there?)

It probably had to do with the fact that she was being fed any and everything she wanted.

“Oh you want cake at 8pm?” Suuuuure!

“Ice cream cone?” No problemo!

Pop corn. every.single.night.

I mean I would’ve been messed up from that. But vacation is meant to overindulge and eat junk food so I wasn’t really thinking when we were all letting the tiny trash can inhale the crap outta that crap, well until she couldn’t crap that is.

After a couple of days of being clogged up and some hardcore crying we got the issue under control. Well, at least I thought so. When I got home from the beach she started walking around the house squatting and saying “Poo Poo OOWWWW”. Since we are trying to potty train I knew this wasn’t good for the game. I made an appointment with the pediatrician and high-tailed it in.

The Doctor told me that I needed to start making it super “easy” for her and consequently AWFUL for me. I now have to give Emmie Miralax in her milk 4 days a week. Yep, I know what you’re thinking and you are right. She is shitting like a maniac now. It’s the opposite issue than before. Ummmm, I sort of preferred the old version. But, if it makes my girl feel better I GUESS I can deal with the 8 effing diapers of crap I have to change a day.

Meanwhile, Ginger decided she wanted in on the fun. I mentioned before we left that she was having a grand old-time in the basement. Turns out she had an even better time at Yaya’s house while she spent that week there. (Sorry mom.)  When I came to pick her up my mom had a steam cleaner sitting there waiting to clean all the shit spots that my fluff nugget had graced her carpet with. And just so I wouldn’t be left out she went ahead and continued the act when she got home. So there’s that.

So on the same day I took Em to the Pediatrician for her constipation issues, I decided to take Ging to the vet for her “crapping all over the house” issues. The vet gave me two special medications to help with her poops (Oh Goody! Giving pills to Ginger is sooooo much fun!) and two different kinds of special food that costs more than a dinner at Morton’s. She’s lucky she’s cute.

Life around here has been like a fairytale… I wake up, shove pills down Ginger’s throat so that she doesn’t crap all over the house, chase her around so she doesn’t hack them up. Then I go make her special food that smells like ACTUAL SHIT! And as soon as Emmie gets up I mix Miralax into her milk sippy cup. But I have to do this covertly because I made the mistake of telling Bobby about how it was “going to help her go poop” in front of her and now if she sees me put it in she wont drink it. She says “No! It’s Poo Poo.” It’s really not that easy to outsmart a toddler, trust me. They are like tiny ninjas. Then I spend the rest of the day changing 10 bazillion diapers. See … Freaking Cinderella in the flesh.

Being a mom… is a shitload of work.

 

 

 

Backtracking

Around here we sort of live by the mantra “Two steps forward and TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE STEPS BACK”.

Yep, I know you mammas out there are nodding in agreement. Well, a little while back I had written a post about how I put Ginger on Prozac for her inability to use the effing litter box. Apparently Emerson’s mere presence in this house sent Ging into a state of panic and she started pissing all over the place. Only after she ruined the carpet and the beautiful new hardwood floors did I find the amazing little miracle pill known as Prozac. She was on it for a couple of months and like magic she was back to normal. Well, normal for her, but she wasn’t having anymore accidents – so I talked to the vet and she said I could take her off of the dope. I guess it had worked its way into her system and served its purpose to level her out. I was pretty excited about it because I didn’t really love the idea of Ging being on meds all the time anyway. And I’m not sure if any of you have ever had to give a cat a pill EVERY.DAY. But there are about 30 other things I would rather do and one of them includes cleaning said litter box.

So I went ahead and took Ginger off of the Prozac and everything was fine … until about two months ago. When her new thing became pissing outside of her litter box. Like literally one step away from the door. At first I thought she was doing it if the litter box was dirty but no, she does it when the damn thing is completely clean. She legit pisses outside the thing that she is supposed to be pissing INTO. I tried to be calm about this and so I thought I would lay puppy pads down and this would help with the clean up. Well it does help make it easier for me to clean up. But it also makes it nice and convenient for Miss Pissy Pad to pee. And NOW to add insult to injury she has started shitting in the basement. Like the cat is refusing to use her effing litter box entirely. So enough is enough, its back on Prozac she goes.

Apparently Ginger has the same effect on Emmie as Emmie has on Ginger in the potty department. We are slowly and steadily introducing the potty to Emmie but every time Ging walks into the bathroom Emmie loses her shit (like literally) and cant focus. She will stand up mid-pee and start chasing Ginger around. It’s suuuuper fun! I seriously give up with these two.

For that reason, I haven’t really gone gung-hoe about potty training yet but we have the pull-ups and I’ll ask her if she needs to go or in most cases if she already went. We have had some super exciting pee in the potty moments. We cheered, we high-fived, we waved bye-bye to the pee pee as we flushed it. It was all very exciting. And then the very next day I asked her if she had to go potty she said “no”, straight up looked me in the eyes and said N-O and 2.5 nanoseconds later she started pissing all over the floor.

How you gonna play me like that Em?

I’m just a mom sitting in a house with two plastic contraptions used to collect piss and shit… and no one will use them. What the hell am I supposed to do?

The way I see it Ging is just going to have stay on Prozac until Emmie goes to college and Emmie …

well, she is going to have figure this whole potty training thing out before she leaves.

 

I Swear

It’s no secret that I like to cuss. The F word is one of my favorites. I’m one of those moms that the other moms get nervous bringing their kids around. You just never know what’s gonna pop outta this mouth of mine. Now before you go judging me, I DO watch my mouth around Emmie (as best as I can). For the last few months my mom has been warning me that I need to curb it in the swearing department now that Emmie is starting to talk more.  She said that “before you know it she’s gonna start repeating you and you’re going to be sorry.” Well I’m not stupid. That’s the last thing I want. So I’ve really made a conscious effort to stop, and personally think I’ve been doing a great job. My new thing is to spell them out. Like when I stepped on her toy mermaid doll with the fin that felt like a shard of glass – “Oh son of a B-I-T-C-H. That hurt mommy like H-E-L-L.” It goes a little like that.

Now just for the record this blog is my safe place. I may be monitoring my mouth in all aspects of my life but I will not tone it down here. This is my outlet. I cannot live in a world where I have to completely eliminate cussing. I’m certain I will die.

So the other day as I  was driving with Emmie in the car (I may or may not have been going exactly the speed limit.) I choose not to incriminate myself on a public forum… But I passed a police officer and before I even could think about it, I yelled “SHIT!” Then just as I turned back to see if Emmie had heard, she started to purse her lips and make a shhhhhh sound. In a panic I starting to sing a hearty chorus of “the wheels on the bus” faster than you can say Bubble Guppies.

Now, I dodged that bullet but I’m fairly certain the next time will be a direct hit. I need to stop this shit NOW! See what I did there?!?

This kid is a freaking sponge and she will repeat any and everything. An example of this is when she came up to me and grabbed my chest the other day and said “boooooobies”. She got this lovely habit from her oh so romantic father. Who loves to welcome me from his long day of work by grabbing me with that sweet gesture. I’m telling you, it’s like living in a scene from the Notebook around here. Jealous?

So in an effort to keep Emmie out of juvie, we are buckling down on the swearing and inappropriate perverted behavior altogether. It’s gonna be like a damn Amish paradise in this place. And I swear to effing God if I hear ONE cuss word come out of her mouth…

I’m blaming her father.

Take Your Seat

Well we survived our trip to Florida. Of course it didn’t go as smoothly as people had said it would but it also didn’t go as “abort-mission, momma needs a Xanax” as I had anticipated.

After calling and booking the flight months ago, at which time I made sure that every thing was taken care of, I got a phone call a month ago from American Airlines informing me that they had merged with US airways and my seats would be different. I told them that I was traveling with a small child and needed to make sure that my husband, daughter and I were all together. I also asked if she would make sure to put my mom & dad’s seats near us. You know that way we know the people we’re pissing off. Everything was taken care of and we were good to go… Or so I thought!

We got to the airport and found that they had me sitting in one row (middle seat), Bobby in a totally different row (middle seat) and Emerson in yet another row by herself (middle seat). Since we had purchased a ticket for her and she was in the car seat she had to have a window seat. Annnnnnd just like that my stress level started climbing.

I politely asked the lady at the ticket counter to change the seats, since clearly that shit wasn’t gonna fly (see what I did there?). She told me I had to wait till I got to the gate and ask the agent there to do it. Okaaaaay, whatevs. Since we were anticipating shit like this we were like 78 hours early for our flight and no one is at our gate yet. I walked over to the nearest gate and POLITELY asked an agent there to help me and I was told, in a not so friendly way that “There are not 3 seats together available on that flight. But there are 2 seats in priority but it’s $50 per seat to change the tickets.” So wait, I have to pay for your mistake?! No thanks. Who else can help me? They directed me to Customer Service where I explained the situation again very POLITELY and again the agent was super rude. I was told the same thing and that “There ain’t nothing I can do right now. You have to talk to the agent at your gate.” So we waited and waited and the minute our gate agent arrived I walked up and started to explain everything. As I was in the middle of talking she cut me off and said “give me your tickets” without even looking at me. I handed her my tickets and she told me the same thing I had heard three times before but this time I was angry. “I realize there are not three seats available but listen, I booked three together so you need to find me some. I have a child and she cannot sit by herself and by law she cannot sit in a middle seat.” She’s didn’t really like that version of me either and snapped back that she would “see what she could do.”

We sat at the gate waiting while Bitchy McBitcherson helped other customers. She finally called me up and said she had gotten two seats together (at the back of the plane) as I was asking about the last ticket she said “MAAM IM STILL WORKING ON IT!” We were getting ready to board so I was losing my patience. I said well I’m sure if you announce over the intercom to whoever is sitting there that you would like them to switch for a family member traveling with a child they will do it. I mean one look at Em when they sit down and they are gonna be begging for a new seat. But because she was such a doll, she refused to do it.

With a few minutes to spare before we boarded she waved me over and handed me the other ticket in the same row. Without speaking any words. I thanked her for her help to which she just turned her head. In short she was a reaaaaaaal peach.

But praise the LAWWWWWD we had seats.

The flight was actually pretty uneventful. Em was an angel and the flight attendants were lovely. My sister’s wedding was amazing and Emmie just went with the flow of everything. She stayed up late and was the perfect little beach baby. The flight home wasn’t nearly as traumatic.

All and all it went pretty damn amazing.

Once we found a damn seat.

  

Airborne

Next weekend my beautiful sister is getting married to an amazing man in Florida. I am thrilled, ecstatic, over-the-moon. I couldn’t be happier for her and their beautiful new life they are about to start together. I am super pumped to get down there and start this damn celebration already. But, PUMP.THE.BREAKS. One tiny, toddlin’, sticky finger, screaming on the plane little detail that juuuuuuusssssssst might cause me to lose my SHIT before I get there is we have to actually GET THERE!

I have googled every single tip and article on traveling with a toddler that has ever been published (reliable source or not), I have reached out to friends on Facebook who have done this dance before and asked for pointers, I have even asked my pediatrician what he thinks I should do and if the use of Benadryl recreationally is frowned upon…. no seriously I did. He pretended not to hear me. Whatevs Doc, I’m sure you do it with your kids every now and again.

Don’t get me wrong Em is a good kid but she is not the sit still for 2 hours type. She is the sit for .03 seconds and then get up and run around for 2 hours type. So the way I see it I have two options. A.) Pay the airline to let me bring like 5 bags on the plane packed with a gazillion things to keep her occupied or B.) pay all the other people on the plane for the inconvenience of Earthquake Emmie. Either way its gonna cost ole’ Bobaroni.

The silver lining of this anxiety laced cloud is that BOTH grandmas will be on the flight with Bobby and I  (Grandpa’s too, of course). I have already told Bobby that he will be sitting next to my dad and Yaya will be taking his seat. He didn’t object (strange huh?). Maybe because he’s well aware of the cluster EFF that is about to ensue. You see, to add insult to injury, I already don’t do well flying, like need meds and squeeze the person’s hand next to me to the point of breaking it during takeoff and landing. So this ought to be a real treat for the passengers of  American Airlines.

But after a lot of thought and sleepless nights, I think I came up with a  pretty solid plan to get both Emmie and I through it in one piece.

YAYA!

Potty Mouth

I’ve been going back and forth on when I  was going to start the whole potty training process with Em. I’ve done seem research and it seems like no one really knows when the eff to start. Some say 18 months, some say wait till their 2 and some say you’ll know when their ready. So i pretty much took all that as a sign that when Em was ready she would somehow let me know.

And she did. Boy did she ever.

About a week or so ago, as I was cooking dinner and Emmie was playing in the family room. I forgot that I left my phone on the coffee table and I didn’t notice that she had snatched it up. Before I knew it I heard the hall bathroom door open and her tiny little voice say “PEEEEE PEEEE” and then the plunk! of my phone sinking into the toilet. I screamed and went running into the bathroom and pulled it out within a nanosecond. I took it out of its case and tried drying it off. I went ahead and called my mom as a test call and much to my dismay I was only able to talk on speakerphone. Yaya is loud enough, aint nobody want us on speakerphone 24/7 trust me! Thankfully by the next morning it miraculously started working again and it’s perfectly fine… for now! But we went ahead and bought the latches for the toilets just in case.

The next time that Emmie proved to me she was probably ready to start this whole potty process was when we were out at Target the other day. I brought Em into the bathroom stall with me so I could go to the bathroom. After she was done trying to strip me naked, she decided that embarrassing me seemed like the next best thing. All I will say is just a heads up to anyone who doesn’t yet have a toddler… you will never be able to get away with making any bodily sounds in a public restroom without your child calling you out on that SHIZ! NEVER.

Here’s how it went:

(“Noise”)

Emmie – “WHAT’S THAT?” “WHAT WAS THAT? “WHAT WAS THAT? MOMMA, WHAT WAS THAT?

Lady in the bathroom – (dying of laughter)

Me – Emmie, SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

So I’ve decided that since Emmie seems to be soooooo interested in the potty these days I might as well give this shit a shot. I mean how hard can it be…

Even Ginger can do it!