And I'm not talking some big bruiser with a right arm that a semi-pro ball pitcher would be jealous of. No, I'm talking my little 23 pound pixie who still wears size 12 month skinny jeans.
See, Sterling decided to potty train herself a few weeks ago.
I erroneously thought that meant I would be on easy street.
I would be wrong. Very, very wrong.
Shocker, I know.
What it really meant is that any time she got bored, I became her potty buddy, which was pretty much every 20 minutes. Because she IS 2.5 and has the attention span of a fruit fly.
So being the enterprising soul that I am, I decided to teach her how to go on her own.
Makes sense, right?
She gets to go the potty whenever she wants. I don't have to spend half my life bent over the toilet with a toddler.
Yeah, I almost almost immediately saw the error of of my ways. Because somehow, in the three seconds she spent in the bathroom alone, homegirl put a hurtin' on it.
In addition to completely emptying the roll of toilet paper down the toilet and pumping hand soap all over the floor, she mustered up the strength of her ancestors and somehow managed to completely shatter the toilet seat down the middle.
Take a few moments to wrap your brain around that one.
I'm still working on it.
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