The past weekend has been an interesting one. Last Friday my sister and her husband flew up from Texas to visit. It was the first time I'd seen them in over two years. Pathetic, I know. And now with everyone having a baby (all within a year of each other because the Dahlstroms are nothing if not competitive) it will probably be harder to get together to see each other.
I know my sister isn't moving back to the Midwest any time soon; on Friday night we all went down to the Lake Harriet band shell to see a concert and she complained she was cold. It was TOO cold out for her. Actually, the weekend was kind of cool considering it's July, but still...
On Saturday me and Matt went over to my sister-in-law's and sort of quasi-babysat the boys while they worked on staining the backyard fence. And that's when I got a glimpse of my future. Me and Jack were playing with his toys when he suddenly turned to me. "I got to poop!"
"Okay," I said. "Let's go."
Everyone else was busy so I shepherded him to the bathroom and opened the toilet lid. "Okay, climb on."
He squatted down over the tiny floor potty. "No," he said. "Not that one."
"Oh, ummm..." I said, not sure what to do.
"I can't use that one. I might fall in." By now he was seated and sort of grunting his explanation to me. Well, I wasn't going to argue now.
"Okay, yes, you don't want to fall in," I said.
"Uh-huh," he grunted.
I wasn't sure what to do, exactly. Should I shut the door? Give him privacy? Talk him through it? I had no idea, so I stood there like a half-wit. Jack picked up a book and started to read it.
Then he said something no person had ever said to me before.
"Mindy, you have to wipe my butt."
It wasn't a question. It was a fact. I had to wipe his butt. It never occurred to me that butt wiping isn't some instinctual reflex, like closing your eyes when you sneeze. You have to be TAUGHT to wipe your butt. It's a skill. Like tying your shoes, knitting, or launching a space shuttle. There are specific steps involved.
Still, I panicked. "Matt!"
Matt was in the next room, changing Georgie's diaper. I walked in there; Matt is a good diaper changer and I realized I had ever only assisted changing. I'd never done it by myself. I had to start out slow; I couldn't just jump to wiping a 3 year-old's backside on the first try.
"Jack needs his butt wiped," I said. I must have looked scared because he laughed at me.
Matt walked over to the bathroom door. "I can wipe your butt, Jack."
"Not...done...yet..." said Jack.
"Okay, that's fine," said Matt. "Sometimes it takes a while."