Dear Toddler,   

Today, I needed to poop. You, apparently, needed to watch me poop. I made the rookie mistake of attempting to sneak away to do my business alone. Admittedly, I made the even bigger mistake of not making sure you were carefully settled in front of a new episode of Sofia the First. You turned three last week… you’d think I’d know better by now.

It took mere seconds after my great escape, before you detected my absence and began banging on the bathroom door. As you stood crying, (and by crying, I mean full on hysterics, complete with real tears and heart wrenching sobs) my heart started to break and I began to feel awful for locking you out.

And then, just like that, I stopped. Choosing not to defecate in front of another human being, should not be something I have to feel bad about. So, I won’t. My Dearest Toddler: Sorry, I’m not sorry for pooping alone.

And while we’re at it, here are a few other things I’m no longer sorry for as well:

Sorry, I’m not sorry I ate your last package of fruit snacks. Those things are damn good, and I paid for them anyway.

Sorry, I’m not sorry your sister bit you. Let’s be honest, you had it coming. It was only a matter of time before she was able to express her displeasure for the constant, aggressive, smothering love you shower her with on a daily basis

Sorry, I’m not sorry you can’t have another cupcake. You, my dear, are a fucking nightmare on sugar. Enough said.

Sorry, I’m not sorry I baby-gated you in your room. You were screaming like your arm had been sucked into a wood chipper. I was 30 seconds from my own major meltdown. It was the safest plan for both of us.

Sorry, I’m not sorry I took the voice box out of your dolly (and threw it away). The number of times per day I hear “Mama” is maddening. I don’t need to hear it in a tinny, high-pitched voice every time you squeeze her damn hand.

Sorry, I’m not sorry it’s time for bed. Maybe it really is time for bed, or maybe you should have another 30 minutes. Either way, stay in your room and at least pretend you’re in bed. Mama needs a little bit of quiet and a big glass of wine. (Oh, who am I kidding, I started drinking hours ago… just go to bed.)

Toddler, my love, there are many, many things I feel guilty about each and every day. But, the next time you look at me with tear-filled eyes and passionately proclaim that we need to have our “privacy together,” I will not feel sorry for closing the bathroom door.

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