It’s 2:10 p.m. on Friday. The office is quiet, as it tends to be on Fridays this time of year. I have a ton of work to do, but all of it requires returning phone calls and e-mail responses from people who are probably frolicking at the beach, enjoying the local pool, or otherwise taking advantage of summer vacation. Meanwhile, I’m trying to fill the 17 minutes (I’ve already killed three since I started typing!) before my 2:30 p.m. conference call. Because, once I wrap that up, I can get out of here myself and accomplish the most important goal of the day…buying a potty seat! You see, we had a near disaster last night in the bathtub, which New Girl is apparently unable to distinguish from the toilet.
It’s the second time she’s had such an accident, but in all fairness, the first time she was suffering from a real stomach bug. This time, she announced “poop” plain as day, which I dutifully ignored until I saw the undeniable look of concentration on her face. At that point, I scooped her up with lightning speed and held her over the toilet. With that, her look of concentration turned to utter confusion and a bit of fright, as if to say “Why are you dangling my very little butt into this very big hole? I thought you were my mother and that I could trust you. Now I just think you’re strange.” Needless to say, she produced nothing until five minutes later when, squeaky clean from her tub and now wrapped in a fluffy white towel, and without a diaper, she completed her business. I know she’s not ready to toilet train quite yet, but I am thinking a potty seat may minimize the chance of another such disaster. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?