You are still in your Christmas pajamas and it is after 3 o’clock. I am making one last attempt at walking you to sleep in the late afternoon light of the master bedroom. Your feet dangle out away from my body now as I cradle you against me like the baby I swear you were just moments ago. Your mouth hangs open on my breast and your eyes roll back, and then finally flutter closed.

”I have to poooooop!”

Your older sister sprints past us and flicks on the bathroom light as you whip your head up to investigate the excitement over my shoulder. I stop mid-dance and decide getting upset isn’t worth it—you will just skip your nap today and we will all survive.

”I’m tinkling. Now I’m pooping. Oh, that was a funny noise!”

You are sitting on the floor of the bathroom now, watching your sister relieve herself. Neither of you feel a bit of shame—sometimes she even appreciates your support. She waves at you from the toilet and you lean forward. I wonder if you are considering trying it out yourself soon. Either way, you clearly admire her and think she is hilarious.

”Wipe me, please, Mama!”

You race me for the toilet paper—your current favorite mess to make. You love to unravel it and then try to fix it before coming to get me. “Uh oh!” you say, and point back to the bathroom, your eyes wide in a pretend panic.

”It’s okay!” I tell you, as I do multiple times a day. “We can fix it.”