While climbing the staircase for her bath, Baby A grabbed her tush and said "Ow." I asked her if she needed to go poop. She shook her head no.
I said, "Do you want to sit on the potty?" knowing full well she's only 16 months old and there's a snowflake's chance in hell she'd produce.
She nodded, smiled and finished climbing up the steps. I undressed her in the bathroom and fished the potty insert out of the linen closet where it's been gathering dust for a year. She sat for a second and shook her head, saying "No!"
I helped A climb down from the toilet and Z stripped and climbed on. Then, as I was adjusting the temperature of the bath water, a butt-naked A climbed up the step stool to the sink and grabbed her toothbrush.
Then she proceeded to squirt shit all over the bottom step.
I've done enough damage to you, dear readers, without telling you about how I managed to clean up said shit with my preschooler on the toilet hollering "Daddy, A pooped on the step stool," my toddler perched precariously above the poo and clothes strewn all over our tiny bathroom floor. Suffice it to say my hands received a scrubbing worthy of a surgeon before I bathed the kids.
