Jack and I have a ritual of sorts. Every night, we head upstairs, brush teeth, go to the bathroom, I tuck him in, snuggle with him for just a minute, and I head downstairs. I settle in to watch TV and then wait...because I know sometime between 1-10 minutes later, I'll hear his door open, hear the pitter-patter of his little feet, hear nothing for a moment or two, and then this- "Mom? Can you come wipe my bottom??"
It is then that I head up the stairs to do my motherly duty. And I must say, he makes it easy for me. He waits patiently for me to appear and he's usually in a stance that most Yoga enthusiasts refer to as The Downward Dog.
Last night was a bit different. Instead of yelling for me to wipe his bottom, he yelled, "I've got diarrhea!!!"
I reluctantly headed upstairs to find him still sitting on the toilet, holding his hand out to me. When he saw me he said, "I know I have diarrhea because when I touched my bottom, it felt like chocolate pudding."