I Still Wipe Your Butt

I don’t think most people think about how long they have to wipe their children’s bottoms before they can do this on their own. I, for one, am shocked that I am still doing it. You are so independent in so many ways, an impressive quality that makes you stand apart from your peers. You can make your own waffle in the morning. You make your own bed. You dress yourself, for the most part, occasionally you put your shoes on the wrong feet or ask for help with dresses that zip up the back. You can make your own popcorn. One time you lit a match and brought it to me with a candle because I said I wanted Daddy to build us a fire. You can get in and out of your car seat unassisted. You can completely navigate your way through my iPhone, appleTV, SONOS, and our home computer. You take both dogs outside to do their business, make them sit when they come back inside before giving them their treat and replenish their dog food. You fill up both your water bottle and the dog bowl in the bathroom sink because thats the one you can reach without help. You remind me I need to restock items that add absolutely nothing to your life- things like stamps, ziplock bags and coffee creamer. You never, ever, forget to brush your teeth or take your vitamin. This actually baffles me. When I was on the birth control pill I would constantly forget to take the pill and believe me, I had way more of an incentive to swallow that little pill every day then you do consuming that glorified fruit snack. I am pretty sure the only thing your vitamin does is ensure that your body has guaranteed sugar in the morning, thus supporting this nation’s addiction to that sticky icky while at the same time solidifying your chances at a future cavity. Ugh, that’s obviously a tangent that could go on way too long so I am going to real it in.
You are this mini adult who makes me look so incapable all of the time. I know Future Stella won’t do some of the embarrassing things I do on a daily basis because Current Stella is already more self sufficient than I am. Things like take cabs 3 blocks, have ice cream delivered at 11pm at night because my front door is closer to the couch I am on than the freezer, ask your husband (or wife if you end up being a lesbian) to get you something every single time they get up so you don’t have to, buy pre-chopped onions because it sounds glorious to pay extra for something that shaves a minute off that night’s meal prep. So every time I hear your voice scream at me from the bathroom saying “Mommy, I went poo poo…..” I am completely taken aback that you still allow me this opportunity to assist you. The part that shocks me more is that I relish in doing this one totally gross thing for you. Before having you, if someone would have told me how long this ritual goes on for, I would have absolutely invested money in an app or a service that would take this burden off the parent. Something like Uber Asswipe, where with a swipe of a finger, a complete stranger comes into your home and wipes your child’s butt for you. I would have been convinced that every mom everywhere would pay good money for this service. Is Future Stella laughing right now because this app now exists? I knew I should have done it- I have so many uber-like concepts that I have invented in my brain and I really hope nobody else has invented them. Please tell me there isn’t remote controlled ice cream? I am assuming there are robots, which really really makes me jealous because I would so love a little robot bitch that I could make chop my onions and fetch me water. I bet you are that girl that chooses to not have a robot and all of your friends think you are psycho for wanting to do things yourself. You probably like adopt broken robots and help them back on their feet. I love you Future Stella for being so nice and independent. You didn’t get that from me.

Anyway, back to the ass wiping. So yesterday, when you beckoned for me, a little smile came over my face and I paused the Super Bowl and excused myself from my guests to walk back and help you. When I opened the door you were standing bent over with your head between your legs. You had already pre torn the paper for me, because obviously if there was a part of the action that you could do yourself you wouldn’t dare outsource it. You say “Mommy, I wish I had eyes back there so I could wipe myself. Will I have eyes back there one day so that I can do this all by myself?” I say, “Yes, Stella, when you turn 5 you will wake up with eyes on your back so you can wipe your own butt.” You might be crazy independent, but you are about the most gullible human on the planet. You say, “Really? Will it hurt when I grow eyes on my back?” Knowing what a crazy hypochondriac you are and your need to know absolutely everything about a subject you are curious about, I decided not to keep this one going. Plus, I had the big game paused with a living room full of people so I confessed I was teasing. You then say, “Mommy one day when I am a mommy my kid will shout for me to wipe them and then I will get to do it myself.” Its so like me to tear up over a subject matter about wiping poop and its so like you to have a child for the sole reason of finally getting to wipe a butt yourself.

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