Becky’s ever-expanding vocabulary

I love my daughter. She is my princess. She’s wonderful. She’s growing. Every day she seems more and more like an adult.

I now have her showering by herself. “Herself” is me meticulously watching her shampoo and conditioner application technique. Making sure she washes off her face, body, peepee and poo poo areas, and in that order. Yet, every time she always surprises me by mimicking my wife in some way. Slapping conditioner through her hair for better application of “The Curly Girl Method,” or some other crazy, small detail I cannot believe.

I’m also done with diaper bags and diapers. Our princess is now potty trained. I should say, potty trained to the point where she no longer pees her pants. She alerts us she needs to use the toilet. She is not trained to the point where we can unleash her to the porcelain throne all alone and she can take care of all business herself. So, I aid in wiping and cleanup dooties.

On a summer adventure we stopped by an ice cream place to get some crazy shakes. It was there that Becky needed to use the restroom, lest she relieve herself on herself during the ride home. I was selected for the wiping shift this time around. I took Becky into the first available restroom I found, and she immediately did what she went in to do. And I went to do what I came to do…

Except there was no toilet paper.

“Oh no, Becky, there’s no toilet paper,” I explained, as I frantically searched around the bathroom for a spare roll, or a solution to my current predicament.

“Dammit.” Was the only response I received, as I tried to not roll on a dirty public bathroom floor in laughter.

We utilized some paper towels to wipe up what we needed to wipe, and a crisis was averted.