I think I need another kid.
I have a niece who is two years old. Her name is Kinsey. She is the sweetest thing on this earth.
Every time I see her, she walks up to me with her arms stretched in the air. She just wants her Uncle Bruce to hold her. I pick her up, and she’s as content as my 15 year old, DJ, in front of an iPhone 5.
She often wedges her little head between my neck and shoulder. That’s the best feeling in the world.
Last time I picked DJ up I pulled my back out. Couldn’t lift a can of baked beans for a week. It’s just not the same.
Although, I guess I should weigh the good with the bad.
I remember the first time DJ pooped in the bathtub. Lisa had to work that night, and I was at home fully responsible for my kid’s care. She was about the same age as Kinsey.
I’d fed her smashed up green peas from a jar and turned my head as she gobbled them down. Those mushed up entrées used to turn my stomach. When she made a game out of spitting them in my face and hair, I was done.
“I don’t care how old you are sister; you ain’t spitting jarred peas and chicken on me!”
I thought it necessary to let her know who was in charge of this house, gagging as I wiped up green and tan gunk off the hardwood floors. I hadn’t realized she stepped in her dinner and was tracking it across the house, including on the off-white rug we’d recently purchased for our dining room.
“DJ! Come here you little slop hog!”
I picked her up and immediately tossed her in the bathtub. At least there if she spit something at me it’d just be water.
For some reason we had three dozen floatie toys in baskets throughout the bathroom. Looking for an easy map to bedtime, I tossed them all in.
That’ll keep her busy for a few minutes.
I wound up my favorite plastic frog. If done correctly, his legs would kick and propel him all the way from the front of the tub to the back.
Less than ten minutes into her soak, DJ got a funny look on her face. Her lips puckered but her mouth was still open. Her eyes began to squint. Her belly tensed up as if she was trying to squeeze into a pair of pants two sizes too small.
Suddenly five balls of loose poop were dancing among the floaties. Had she smuggled in doughnut holes from the kitchen?
Geeeze. Those aren’t sweets!
I stood up, frozen. DJ returned to her activities, happier than before.
The phone rang. I assumed it was Lisa checking in, and I wanted to gauge the timeline. Could I possibly hold off on cleaning this up until she got home? Maybe I could isolate the brown balls to the back of the tub with a line of plastic bobbing Disney characters.
A Fundraiser from N.C. State began to ask me to support a student from the College of Humanities and Social Sciences.
“I’ve got shoo-shoo in the bathtub! I can’t talk right now!”
This happened three times to me with that child, and she never did it with Lisa. I recently asked DJ if her actions were intentional.
“Dad, Mom was probably smart enough to have me try to use the bathroom before I got in the tub. You're just not that organized.”
On second thought, maybe I just need another niece. Uncle Jesse, get to work!