My love, my sweet little boy, my whole-lotta-love-in-a-little-package, my Jellybean.
WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?
You had it. You really did. You were staying dry for days straight, even at night. You even called to me at night to get you to the toilet.
It’s been days since you’ve gotten more than one pee in the toilet. You’ll smile sweetly and answer, “no” when I ask you if you have to go pee. Right before you flood your pants. You’ll scream like I’m … like I’m doing something unimaginably abusive if I ‘make’ you visit the toilet. You’ll say, “I’m dry,” as you have yellow streaming down your leg.
You know that pee and poop go in the toilet. You know that the livingroom is not a toilet. You know that big boys go pee in the toilet.
I’m really tired of having a pile of pee-stinking laundry in the hall. I’m tired of having to do a load every night. I’m tired of hauling out the carpet cleaner every other night. I’m tired of stripping your sheets every morning despite the fact that you wear pull-ups to bed (I know, that’s not your fault). I’m tired of changing your pants as often as I used to change your diapers.
I love you. I’m fucking sick and tired of oceans of pee going anywhere but the toilet, but I do love you.