"Ben, I get to go potty! Its part of the Geneva Convention!"
These are words I actually uttered to my son this morning as I was running to the bathroom with wails of displeasure filling my ears. Even prisoners of war get to pee without being yelled at. But not a mom. A mom has to put a baby gate up in the doorway to prevent her toilet from being clogged with shoes, plastic elephants, and rubber Scooby Doo balls. She has to endure whining and screaming for juice while urinating. She has to be hit in the knee by said juice cup as she wipes. She has to yell at her son about not throwing things at Mommy as she flushes. Then she has to avoid tripping back over the gate, put the cup on the floor, and attempt to convince her son to pick it up and hand it to her nicely if he wants her to get him a damn thing. He then whines and flails about. She in return whines and flails about. They are at a stalemate. Finally thirst overcomes the boy and he picks up the cup and he flashes a devilish smile as he hands it to her. A small victory for mommy dearest. Ben, your wish is now my command. Gotta love being a mom.