Adieu to the potty

Good-bye potty chair. Oh sure, you've served us well with your compact size and cushy rubber seat. But, to let the cat out of the bag, I'm just sick of cleaning you. I'm sick of wiping down three separate pieces that pee has dripped through. I'm sick of emptying you into the toilet with arm extended and face and body turned away to avoid the "bounce-back splash". Last night, after I had showered and beautified myself for an outing, I emptied a pee and poo filled bowl into the toilet and got nailed with two large drops in my hair. It's not forever, potty. Bella will be needing you one day. But until then you can stay in the garage. Honestly, I think the separation will be good for us.

And now, a poem:

"How Potties Are Like Mommies"

Oh potty! What relief you bring.

Transporting many odious things,

from little innards to the great bowl of swirling debris.

But potty, it's time to say goodbye,

and though I feel no need to cry,

I must confess you've served us well.

Significant your work may be,

even more significant to me,

for you and I are quite the same.

We both bear stains at any given hour,

of putrid liquids, stale and sour;

gifts from gracious little ones. (Those angels)

Yes, we wear the muck and we wear it well,

while in the trenches we daily dwell,

and yet in gratitude they fail,

with no praises do they hail us.

For back to work it's always been,

when upset tummies start to spin

and inner gears wind up again

and grimaces turn to grunts (oh my goodness, he just blew chunks!)

So question not why I depose thee,

from your bathroom perch quite cozy,

it's nothing but necessity.

For muck and gunk there's plenty 'round,

and if on two it can be found, I'd rather clean just one.

So thank you, potty,

it's been fun.

-Summer