November 18, 2014
This evening Isaiah was left alone for a few minutes in the bathtub while John had a heart-to-heart with Carter and I was feeding the baby downstairs, listening to Eliott read. I heard him call my name a few times, but the sentiment seemed more like his “Mommy, what are you doing right now?” tone of voice rather than his, “I just fell and hit my head” tone of voice, so naturally I ignored him. When the baby finished eating I took her to bed.
I popped my head in the bathroom to find Isaiah perched on the edge of the tub, one foot in the water, the other dangling over the side. There in front of him, neatly lined up on the outside edge of the tub, were several turds, ranging from average and healthy sized, to peanut sized. He looked up at me, not sheepishly but with a very serious expression and continued to repeat the word, “Stink.”
I have no idea where this child came from. A few weeks shy of two years old and the kid already cleans up his own fecal messes with such a matter-of-fact attitude that I wonder if he should be the one keeping an eye on his seven year old sister and not the other way around.