Oh glorious readers, how many more of these you have to look forward to, aren’t you excited? :hide: But come on, you have to at least read the first!

Yesterday, my delicate princess was returned to me by her Mima and Poppy in the mid-afternoon (yes, she had another sleepover). She was quite happy to see me and we played for most of the evening. We conversed some (in toddlerese) about her time at Paw-paws(she can’t manage Poppy yet) and she called out several times, with her hands splayed over her mouth (her version of cupping her hands and projecting her voice apparently,for “Memmit”–my in-laws cat Emmit and “Pee-pee”–another of their cats, Sweet Pea. She entertained me with her version of events and a good time was had by all (or at least the two of us…our cats, Oliver and Trish, not so much down with the tail tugging).

At one point, she brings a diaper over to me and says “diedy” (our word for diaper–one of the only things we don’t use the actual word for, for whatever reason). She then proceeds to lay on the floor in anticipation of getting a clean diedy change.

Oh, genius fruit of my loins was indeed wet, so we changed said diedy and off she went to continue her play.

Ten minutes later, my adorable monkey is back again with a another diaper and again, the word “diedy” and a body flop to the floor. This time however, she’s bone dry. Being the intuitive mother that I am, I surmise that she needs to go potty. So I ask her, “Do you want to go potty?” She repeats “potty” and then lags behind me as I walk to the bathroom. I turn to find she’s had to stop to gather her pants and her shoes and carry them with us to the bathroom. No lady can use the potty without her shoes in attendance, you see (or so I’m guessing was her thought pattern).

Off comes the dry diaper and I set my daughter on her plastic throne. At which point she immediately starts wailing, “Stuck. Stuck. Stuck.” I assure her that she’s not, in fact, stuck. She, however, is having none of it.

At this point, the devil spawn of my husband’s seed stands up, smiles, and pees on the floor. I think she aimed because she hit the shoes she carried into the bathroom with her. It did have a lovely arc to it, very impressive for a GIRL CHILD.

To end this sad tale, she looks at the puddle and asks, “Water?”

I, being the epitome of all that is classy respond, “No, baby, pee.”

My husband’s daughter then cups her hands around her mouth and calls out, “Pee-peeeee.”

Anyone want to rent a toddler for the next several years?

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