I remember some of my anxiety around my child's behavior, especially when he went through the Extremely Loud Voice period around age 2. In retrospect, I don't give a hoot what anyone thought of him, but I love to recall the times he and I laughed about it together. It all passes by so fast!
You commented about how it was typical that your husband would need extended restroom break before boarding the plane. But, I think you meant it was more than just airplane boarding situations where he’d need to go last minute before leaving somewhere.
When I was growing up, we’d typically need to wait for my Dad as we were getting our shoes and jackets on to go someplace. I know poop talk can be gross, but this phenomenon interests me since it caused problems and was so consistent. Sometimes, I thought he was just being difficult. But to wait for not just the last minutes, but at “T minus one,” it was just too good, it had to be true.
If I were my Dad, and if I had cared, I would have tried tricking myself that we were actually leaving earlier. But, sometimes the bowels know your lies. Sometimes, the bowels know no bounds nor boundaries.
I remember some of my anxiety around my child's behavior, especially when he went through the Extremely Loud Voice period around age 2. In retrospect, I don't give a hoot what anyone thought of him, but I love to recall the times he and I laughed about it together. It all passes by so fast!
You commented about how it was typical that your husband would need extended restroom break before boarding the plane. But, I think you meant it was more than just airplane boarding situations where he’d need to go last minute before leaving somewhere.
When I was growing up, we’d typically need to wait for my Dad as we were getting our shoes and jackets on to go someplace. I know poop talk can be gross, but this phenomenon interests me since it caused problems and was so consistent. Sometimes, I thought he was just being difficult. But to wait for not just the last minutes, but at “T minus one,” it was just too good, it had to be true.
If I were my Dad, and if I had cared, I would have tried tricking myself that we were actually leaving earlier. But, sometimes the bowels know your lies. Sometimes, the bowels know no bounds nor boundaries.
This is the bane of my existence. Literally every. Time. We leave. The house. My poor children.
Ah, those friends with well-meaning advice that makes it feel so much worse. Why do they keep trying to help?