Bathroom Break(ing Point)

Before I say anything else, I just want to offer up a huge shoutout to everyone who commented on my last post (see "woe is me" in the dictionary, and I swear there'd be a link). Thank you seems so pitifully inadequate, but there are no better words. Y'all lifted my spirits more than you'll ever know, and reaffirmed why I started this blog in the first place: because there are people out there who are in my shoes. It helps so much to know that I'm not in this boat alone! I am so grateful to you all for each and every kind word of encouragement that you posted - and also thankful to the haters for keeping quiet; I didn't get a single "shut the hell up and stop whining" comment.

And now that I'm feeling close to normal again, we bring you your regularly scheduled talk of toilets and all things that are (supposed to be) contained within.

See, I've been in a constant battle lately with my three-year-old. Cameron spends a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom. He's the only person I know that poops approximately ten times a day. But it isn't because he has some crazy digestive issue, or that I spike his milk with laxatives or something. It's because most people, when they sit down on the john to do their bidness, do their bidness. You know, like, get it all out at once. But Cameron poops a little, proclaims that he's finished, and then goes back twenty minutes later to do it again.

Not only that, but he feels the need to remove every article of clothing before settling himself onto the throne. The bathroom floor is always strewn with cast-off clothing. I have to dress him multiple times a day.

It wouldn't be so bad if Cameron would just get in there and do what he needs to do and get out. But apparently it takes twenty minutes, minimum, to push out each little rabbit turd. And even that wouldn't be so bad - maybe even kinda nice - if he just sat there nice and still for twenty minutes. But no. He feels the need to play with things (which I'm sure has NOTHING to do with the fact that his father sits on the toilet playing Big Buck Hunter on his iPhone until his legs go numb). He fiddles with the seat behind him. He messes with the flusher-handle-thingy. He leans way over to peer behind the shower curtain. He has been known, on more than one occasion, to unravel a whole roll of toilet paper just to get to the cardboard tube at the center so he can play with it.

... Or, you know, eat it.

Yeah. Seriously. If you're new here, I feel compelled to explain that Cameron has pica and eats paper products. It used to only be soft stuff, like napkins and paper towels and whatnot, but has now expanded to include cardboard, photographs, junk mail, and the pages of books.

And that brings us to the umpteen-millionth reason why Cameron's bathroom habits have been reeeeeally annoying me lately: the eating of the toilet paper. He sees the toilet paper roll as his own personal snack buffet. And though he will eagerly gobble it dry, he prefers it ... are you ready for this? ... wet.

You can probably see where this is going.

Yeah, he dips it in the toilet. Dirty water or clean (and when I say "clean" I just mean un-peed-in), it doesn't matter to him. I can't even tell you how many times I've walked into the bathroom to find Cameron stuffing a dripping blob of T.P. into his mouth. And, consequently, drips all over my floor. And his hands, and his arms, and everywhere else.

So you can see that there's no allowing him to go to the bathroom unsupervised. Which is why I spend a substantial amount of time in there, rather impatiently urging him to hurry it on up. Which prompts protests of, "But I need privacy, Mommy," and answers of, "You have to earn privacy by not turning every bathroom visit into a total disaster, Son." Back and forth, back and forth.

Ugh.

The other day Cameron was talking to one of my besties, Lisa. She laughed and said, "You're a doll."

To which Cameron responded, "I'm not a doll, I'm a mess!"

Yep. Just about sums it up.