First of all, you must go over and congratulate Sarah on the birth of her second daughter. Then come back and read the rest of this post. And I'll only know if you've been over to greet Sarah if you can tell me the name of her new little one.
Sarah is participating in a Meme, 40 reasons to have kids, and linked to Heather Claypool's list.
Although I don't have children so can't really participate, I DO remember some events from my toddlerhood, so I'm sharing a memory jarred back to life by one of Heather's observations:
11) Privacy in the bathroom is highly overrated!
So...I commented there, but decided to share this story with the larger world.
As I've written of before, I was always a daddy's girl, so whenever he was around, I wanted to be in his presence. I really loved my Daddy! And I still remember toddling around; apparently this is an unusual gift as most people don't remember being that young. At least, not clearly.
Perhaps I don't remember all of my youngest childhood, but one memory stands out so clearly I can tell you where the shadows fell in the light of the day. So I assure you; this memory is a true memory, and hearing about it as I grew up has helped to maintain the memory in high resolution.
One day I was looking for daddy, and found Mom in the kitchen. She told me he was in the bathroom. Great! I started to take off across the kitchen, calling daddy.
Mom tried to stop me, telling me that Daddy was going to the bathroom and to give him some "privacy". But I didn't care about that; I wanted to be wherever Daddy was. I was certain he wouldn't mind. So I ran across the kitchen, Mom's hand reaching out to stop me, just grazing the back of my shirt.
I was very single-minded in my intent!
I ran up the steps, through the laundry room, and to the bathroom. At that time, although the doorknob was over my head, I could reach it just fine, and turned it...and the door opened.
There was daddy, standing, facing the toilet, "going potty".
Daddy was embarassed, but didn't really know what to do...he sorta didn't have much of a choice at that point! Mom was yelling for me as she was catching up, apologizing to Dad.
I just stood there, ignoring Mommy, looking up at him. Dad was saying to me, "I'm going to the bathroom!"
Mom grabbed me, then, telling Dad she was sorry. But I couldn't take my eyes away from Daddy. There was something completely fascinating about what he was doing. My comment?
"Gee! How handy!"
And then Mom successfully pulled me out of the bathroom and closed the door.
My Dad died back in 1995, and this was one of his favorite stories; and much to MY embarassment, he never tired of telling it.
Incidentally, his other favorite story was accompanied by a picture of me sitting on my potty chair with my diaper on my head. That story will NOT be told and the picture will NOT be shared. It went into hiding after my high school graduation party.