Ruining dessert for my parents

I had a bit of a struggle as a child learning to go to the bathroom on my own. I remember I had one of those musical training toilets which sat in the hallway next to the bathroom in our apartment and how proud Mom was when I finally “tinkled” on my own and in the right spot. Dad tried to keep his distance from any toilet training duties. (Who could blame him!)

It was the “other” kind of bathroom visit, shall we say, that I just couldn’t handle on my own. I guess I lacked the coordination to wipe properly (or maybe I just found it icky!) I was about three or four at the time, so I guess I should give myself a break.

Mom would make a nice Saturday night supper and we would all enjoy it. I had pretty good manners at the table and was never trouble in that sense.

But then dessert would come. I would wolf mine down and then asked to be excused … yes, you can guess where to.

Mom could count it down on the clock how long it would take. “Mommy! I need you!” Funny, how I never asked for Dad in those situations. I’m sure he was relieved.

So Mom would help me out in the bathroom. A common thing a mother does for her child.

But Mom says it happened every time we had chocolate pudding!

Now I know why Dad stuck to vanilla-flavored desserts.

(To Mom’s credit, she tried to keep a good sense of humor while being a bathroom assistant for me as a child and for Dad as he became child-like with dementia.)