I heard her before I saw her. High-pitched squeal mixed with the kind of giggles that only a 3 year old girl can make.
Then I saw her. Hands above her head, rollercoaster style. Pants and underwear around her ankles. Scooting her feet as fast as she could, 3 inches at a time, which was all the pants and underwear would let her do.
I was just coming through the back door, off of the patio, from having a cigarette. As soon as I opened the door, this scene zipped past me. Off to my left, from the bathroom, I heard my daughters’ voice and she sounded tired. 12 hour shifts at the hospital will do it.
“Roooowww! Why are you running with your pants down?”, Sarah asked with a sigh.
Rowan replied, “Scarry monsterrrrr!”1
Now I am joined by my daughters boyfriend. He is laughing and trying to come up with a good response to the 3 year old mock screaming while running from her mom with her pants around her ankles talking about a scarry monster in the bathroom. Well, my dear daughter, if the shoe fits…..
The sentence goes thru my head again, like it has so many times this past year.
“I am too old for this….”
My 48 year old, diabetic, premenopausal body jumped into action at the last second. I reached out and grabbed those outstretched hands, halting her forward motion. I quickly knelt on one knee and pulled up panties and pants with one swoop. I whispered in her ear.
“Did you go potty?”
“Yes, peepaw. I went poopy! It was a happy poopy.”
OMG
When did this happen?
Hello, Peepaw 