Daddy wipes his own butt

I hear the call that tells me all I need to know just by the mere tone and cadence of my name: "Mooooooom-Meeeeeee!" It's Adrian, and he's in the bathroom, seemingly finished doing his business. I know he is calling for my assistance, as I am still 8 months away from having only one remaining kid's butt to wipe, given our long standing, child-instituted rule that the parental duty is required until the age of 7.

I'm actually reading something at the kitchen counter, so I let him call me a couple more times in order to finish the article and also because Adrian tends to not always be finished when he calls me, causing me to waste a trip about half the time. He calls me again and elaborates a little more each time: "Mooooom - Meeeeeee! I'm done!" Pause. "Well, I'm not really done, but I'm kind of done." Pause. "Well, I'm done for now. I'm going to save the rest for later." Pause. "So can you please come here now?"

I head to the bathroom, his line about "I'm going to save the rest for later" still rolling around in my head. That's a new one, I think.

I get in there, and I notice that there's just a tiny bit in the toilet, so I ask him why so little to which he responds that he needed to flush earlier because the toilet was filling up. What is he, I think, a horse? It was a double-flusher, and he's still holding onto some for later? 

Later, Jose and I are really hungry for fajitas, but neither of us has the ambition to cook tonight, so we decide to take the boys and go grab some dinner somewhere. As per usual, about midway through the meal, Adrian announces he has to poop and asks me to take him - there's "the rest" he was saving for later, I suppose. He tells me, "It's going to be a while, Mommy." I stand outside the stall and wait with another mom whose child is also taking a mid-dinner crap, and it feels a little like how the dads who stand nearby holding shopping bags while their wives are in the changing room must feel, except that no one will be calling them in momentarily to do something below their pay grade like with the moms.  

After what feels like ages since we got to the restroom, Adrian finally calls out that familiar jingle, "Mooooom-Meeeee! I'm dooooonnnne!" Afterwards, he tells me with amazement in his voice that when I have to come in there with Daddy instead of him, it must be a really tight fit. I assure him that Daddy wipes his own butt, so we haven't had that problem. 

We walk out and other moms with kids in hand have accumulated, waiting for their turn, grinning. While we wash our hands, Adrian tells me very matter of factly, "Mommy, I like it better when you take me to the bathroom instead of Daddy. I don't like going in the girls bathroom, but you wipe my butt better. Daddy does it too hard. I like how you're gentle." He tips his head down and purses his lips to make his point. As we walk past the other moms on our way out the door, I could swear we all make a realization together in that very moment: We have all been doing TOO GOOD of a job. Maybe if we weren't such awesome butt wipers, we'd be eating our dinners while the Dads stood in the bathroom making small talk with a youngin' in an enclosed, not-well-ventilated space, asking him between grunts and groans if he's almost finished as they picture their dinners on the table where they left them. Hours later, I still feel a kinship with those ladies and am wondering if they're thinking the same as I:  Must work on this. :)~

#Comewipemybutt #buttwipingchronicles #Mommysdoitbetter #Awinforthedads

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