Extortion

            It would seem that my earlier declaration of “fuck you PEG,” may have been a bit premature. We are experiencing day 8 with no shit incidents in the pants. It has been a glorious week. The laundry pair is on a holiday and beginning to suffer from laundry deficiency syndrome. The bathtub plumbing is wondering what all this clear water with soap in it is, and where the great lumps of raw sewage are. (I assume that the tub drain aspires to be a toilet someday).

            It is heartening to ask my kid where she’s off to only to have the casual response, “I have to poop.” My heart grows every time she utters the words I’ve longed to hear for 2.5 years, and I am sure I’ve now developed cardiomegaly. The skin on my hands are now dry due to the winter air and not due to washing them every five minutes.

            As with every good thing that has come into my life, there is always a tinge of darkness. We have rewarded our little cutie with candy and other edible currencies to extort poop out of her. But the tables, it would seem, have turned. She is now shitting on demand. Her motivation? Kinder Fucking Surprise Bitches.

            This morning she declared that she had pooped, even though we have been carefully timing her PEG to ensure she poops in the evening after she gets away from Angel-a’s house. Skeptical, I went in for a gut-contents-check. There was nothing there. The negotiations began:     “Can I have an Eggy Prize?”

            “No, you didn’t do anything.”

            “Well I want it.”

            “No. There is hardly a poop in here. You have to actually do something in the toilet.”

            “BUT I WANT IT.”

            “I’ll make you a deal. You know the Eggy Prize you opened last night? You can have the chocolate that you didn’t eat.”

            “OK!” What she failed to realize, until the chocolate egg was in front of her, emptied of its prize, was that I was not giving in to her demands. I don’t negotiate with toddlerists. She was displeased with this turn of events.

            I started working on my O Chem lab report and she went back to the bathroom, presumably to wash the low-quality chocolate off her face. A few minutes later, I heard: “MAMA I POOOOOPED!”

            Irritated by interruption, I went in after her to look at what she was on about. I fully expected her to be in front of the mirror, budgie-style, checking herself out. Nope. There she was, perched on the potty like a bird of prey. Eyeing me up.

            “I want an eggy prize.”

            “Did you actually poop?”

            “Yes.”

            “I don’t believe you,” I was moving toward her. She lifted a tiny ass cheek and displayed the fruits of her labour. “Let me get this straight, you’ve gone from not pooping on the potty at all to pooping on demand when there is an Eggy Prize on the line?”

            “Nooooo,” she said, laughing. “Aren’t you so proud of me?”

            What could I say? Her ingenuity and passion for candy is becoming legendary. Apparently, she is a cunning toddlerist that is a force to be reckoned with. “I’m always proud of you Sweet Pea.” Now I have to figure out how to cut this shit off before candy bills bankrupt us.