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Should I die, this blog will serve as my son's source of virtual mama.

If I live, I won't have to repeat myself.

sigers writes fiction and nags her son in austin, texas. 

I want you to know that your mother is the bathroom Buddha.

This is one of the ones you might want to delete before your run for Congress.

Or before you go to middle school.

So you have developed this habit of holding your poop in. We think you had a rough poop and then decided “Nope, this shitting shit is for the birds. Not gonna do it.”

As much as your dad and I have explained that this is a bad idea, you persist in acting like Meth sewed your ass cheeks together and kept feeding you, and feeding you.

Which means your poop is as big as Red Bull cans and no one could blame you for trying to stop that from coming out your butt.

We have tried many things. Veggies. Threatening to go in there after it. Your doctor suggested a little stool softener so you can have some easy poops that will lull you into a false sense of security. We’re working on it.

But one time I Miralaxed you, not knowing that your dad had recently Miralaxed you. When we figured it out, we ALL put on pull-ups, barricaded ourselves inside the bathroom with a mattress and waited for the shitstorm to begin.

In the meantime, we have decided to resort to desperate measures … bribery.

I now have a box full of Thomas the Train engines, which is like a box of crack. When you put the poop in the potty? You get an engine. You poop in your pants? You don’t get shit. Except for the obvious.

So the other day you barged into the bathroom because nothing makes you have to go to the bathroom like ME in the bathroom hoping for a moment of peace.

I was hurrying to get out of your way, because I would not put it past you to IGNORE THE WOMAN SITTING ON THE TOILET AND PEE ANYWAY.

You assessed my situation and asked, “You get an engine now?" 

Nope. Not shitting my skinny jeans is its own reward, kid.

What I want you to know, is that certain things, you just can’t fight. It is so painful to watch you try and try to avoid this uncomfortable situation. You grimace. You hide. You clench your little butt cheeks so hard that you nearly lift yourself off the floor. But poop is inevitable. When you give yourself over to this idea, it will be much easier.

Outside of the toilet, suffering is unavoidable. There is nothing you can do to hide from it. There is nothing you can do to stop it. No one is happy all the time, Muffins.

All you can do is try to remember the engine on the other side.

I want you to know how very, very sorry I am.