Ugh, my tummy hurts. But I am almost done with the puzzle!
I place the piece with Peppa’s head in the empty spot, completing the set. As a 3-year-old, this was an easy puzzle.
Where’s Mommy?
I start taking steps towards the couch. With every movement, my stomach pain subsides. Plop. Plop. Plop.
Mommy’s pounding footsteps echo from the hallway; she is heading to the living room.
I hope this won’t be as bad as the time I put my Little People figure on the toy potty, but I ended up unconsciously peeing on the playmat. I look down and cringe. Mommy appears in front of me while I pick up the nearest toy.
She stops in her tracks, a confused look on her face. Pointing to the floor, she asks, “Izzy, where did you find chocolate?”
Phew, she thinks it’s chocolate.
I watch closely as her eyes widen in disbelief. She glances at me, then back at the brown Hansel and Gretel pebble trail on the floor. This is bad.
She lets out a loud yelp and uses paper towels to pick up three round feces off the floor. I guess they do look like chocolate truffles.
Mommy grabs me and runs to the bathroom, yelling, “Help!” Who is she calling to? Isn’t Daddy at the grocery store again?
She quickly pulls my shirt off, carefully checking for residue before throwing it in the laundry. Should I warn her?
Then she swiftly pulls my panties down. Too late.
Feces the size of marbles scatter the floor, rolling across the bathroom like they were trying to run away.
Wow, I did poop a lot this time. Potty training is a challenging exercise for Mommy, although I did give her a 7-day break.
“Izzy, don’t move.” Mommy scolds as she picks up the hundreds of pebbles with toilet paper. “I am disappointed in you.”
“I’m d-pointed too,” I mumble the new word.
With a sigh, she hugs me tightly, “Don’t do it again, okay?” she says in a tired voice.
“Okay,” I reply with a big smile when she turns on the shower for my second bath today.