“Mama! I gotta go FISH!” he yells. This prompts me to hop up as quickly as I can and grab his little hand. Off we run to the bathroom. His version of fishing requires no pole. It requires a potty and a strong constitution. Somewhere along the way he got in the habit of referring to his #2 bathroom activity as “going fish”. I don’t know why. Perhaps he thinks it looks like fish swimming. It’s hard to know.
He’s in a funny little stage right now. Anywhere we go, the store, the park, a restaurant, he loves to sing his ABC’s, and at the top of his lungs. Bystanders either think it’s absolutely precious, or maybe the most annoying thing they’ve ever heard. Either way, it does no good to tell him to stop. That just breaks his little heart and he’ll start crying. Which makes the people who thought it was cute think you’re a terrible person, and it makes the people who didn’t like the ABC’s wish you could go back to that.
As we sit in the bathroom, him on the throne and me on the floor, he’s giving it all he’s got. He pushes on his own little belly to “help”. “I gotta push the button!” he says, pressing on his belly button. I start laughing. It’s kind of hilarious. Then he says, “Mama, I need a hug!” So I get up, and give him a winner of a hug, all while he’s still sitting on the pot. This cracks me up even more. I start laughing, which makes him start laughing. We’re in the bathroom, him on the potty, me bending over, hugging tight and laughing.
All the while he’s fishing.
If this doesn’t sum up parenting, I don’t know what does.