Goofgirl has been potty-trained for some time. But she hadn't mastered wiping - or perhaps she didn't want to. Perhaps she enjoyed interrupting whatever I was doing (usually eating dinner) to yell, a la Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood, "I'm finished!"
If I did not go to the little princess immediately she would come to me, pants down, bearing toilet paper, and possibly dribbling poop across our house. Since her digestive output cycle seems to coincide with my dinner, it was doubly important that I attend to her needs. Nothing eliminates the savor of a meal like cleaning up poop.
And so, night after night, as my wife giggled at me, I would put down my fork and knife, excuse myself and go to face the unblinking eye of Sauron.
But those dark days are coming to an end. She is proudly mastering this aspect of personal hygiene. Tonight, as we were eating she took care of business and proudly announced, "I wiped myself!"
My daughter and I high-fived. Then my wife asked, "Did you wash your hands?"
"Oops!" my daughter yelled as she scampered back to the bathroom, and I followed.
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