Yes, officially, I am the Bad Mother of the Year.
At least according to the people at the coffee shop yesterday.
Now, I've not wanted to blog about potty training because I know my 2 readers probably aren't interested in more talk about poop. One because he's had enough converations about poop to last a lifetime, the other because she hasn't had those conversations yet, and still might decide to have kids one day if we don't scare her off first. But (sadly) the topic bodily functions keeps coming up in our household, so here goes.
Yes, I might be the Worst Mother Ever. That's what the teenege girls who man the coffee shop thought as I nonchalantly conversed with a friend as my eldest daughter bellowed from the bathroom. They seemed genuinely concerned that someone had left their child alone in the bathroom in obvious disstress.
"I was waiting for her to ASK for help" I said as I brushed by them on the way to Rescue.
"One day You'll understand".
Indeed, one day their kid will probably stick out their tongue and say something like "I don't want to be your friend anymore", to which you will say "ok", and walk away, and wait until they decide they need you again. You will wait until they really want it and are yelling loudly. And you'll ge the Bad Parent Award, too.