These days Emma, who is three and recently toilet trained, has a tendency to wait until she is fairly dancing before she tears across the room to the oldest person present and announces in great distress; "I need to use the potty. I need to use the potty!", the stress levels in her voice rising with each word. Until someone acknowledges this press conference, she continues her dance of agony.
Once acknowledged she races for the nearest bathroom and a minute later re-appears, calm and collected, usually with her undies in hand, demanding assistance with their return to where they belong.
Now I understand how, at three, life is so interesting that one does not want to stop what s/he is doing but rather waits until the last possible minute before finally accepting the fact that s/he really does need to use the bathroom. What I don't understand is why, at 43, I do the same thing. Only in my case rather than dancing a jig around the room I just grow increasingly impatient with all about me until I just absolutly can no longer deny that my bladder is, and has been, filled way beyond capacity for the past hour.
So for the sake of my sanity (and the safety of my children) I have decided that bathroom breaks are a necessity and not an option, and perhaps I want to drink less caffine until I break myself of this terrible habit.
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Friday, December 02, 2005
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