Lately, I have two potty mouths. My nineteen-month-old is obsessed with water. She LOVES bath time. When she hears the tub filling, she runs into the bathroom and tries to climb into the tub with her clothes on. She has no problem sticking her face in the water and blowing bubbles whereas her older sister tries to blow bubbles three inches above the water. The other day the littlest wanted me to wash her hair twice! Hair washing has always been a struggle with my older daughter. She’s just now, at three and a half, letting me wash it with minimal struggle.
The problem, though, is that her obsession with water doesn’t end there. She LOVES pouring her drinks out and watching them drip on the floor or playing with the puddles she’s made on her tray. If we give her a sip out of our water glass, we have to immediately remove it or she’ll stick her little hand in the cup. She can’t seem to help herself. These non-spill cups have been a godsend.
[Warning: gross subject matter ahead] But her real obsession is toilet water. Far too many times I’ve caught her dumping toys into the toilet, and I’d like to say it ends there. But she’s also been known to drink the water. The three-year-old can’t seem to keep the bathroom door closed and the littlest will immediately make a beeline for the bathroom if she sees the open door.
When my eldest was about the same age as my youngest is now, one unfortunate day I was taking a shower while my daughter played on the other side of the curtain. I heard her gag and peeked around the curtain to find her holding a cup. But that was the end of it. She learned her lesson and never put toilet water anywhere near her mouth.
I’ve caught my youngest, however, on several occasions dipping her hand or a toy into the toilet. The other day I caught her heading toward the bathroom with a cup in her hand. On another very unfortunate day she came into the room sucking on a clean pad that she had dunked into the toilet. Last week we were ready to walk out the door when the littlest disappeared. We found her with one leg over the rim of the toilet trying to step into it with her boots on.
My eldest daughter has a new favorite song. She’ll come into the room singing, “Uptown F* You Up.”
“Funk, dear. It’s funk,” I’ll gently remind her.
The three-year-old has a superhero obsession. The other day she had her legs resting on a table and Super Bridge was born, though it sounds like Super B* when she says it.
“Here.” She hands me a paper towel. “Cover your face.”
“Because it’s scary.”
“If you had a boy, what would you name him?” I ask.
“Kacya Boy,” she responds.
“And if it’s a girl?”