Last night on the way to my parents Charlotte announced that she had to go to the bathroom.  Even though we went literally 2 minutes before we left the house.  She started shouting from the back seat, “okay we go to my house to poop and pee and then we go to nonna’s house! call daddy to come get me to go!” I could tell she wasn’t going to be able to hold it and I was on the BQE which has limited rest stops to say the least.  So I had to do what I have never done before.  And that is enter a gas station bathroom.  A gas station bathroom that was located outside.  A gas station outhouse, if you will.  It was like entering Satan’s lair.  It was cold and disgusting and just a place you don’t want to poop, let alone your kid.  But I brought baby wipes AND lysol wipes with me, because I knew this was not going to be pleasant.  Char was unusually fast (seriously, this kid could spend 45 minutes in the bathroom if I let her) because I think even she knew we were inside a petri dish of hell.  I decided to take all of our clothes and set them on fire when we arrived at our destination because it seemed to be the only logical solution.

I called Eric when we got in the car and told him if he ever had a doubt this kid wasn’t like him, she was CERTAINLY his daughter.  They can both poop anywhere.  Even a gas station out house.

I heard Char a few minutes later whisper to herself, “yea, I poop anywhere.”  She was proud of getting through that experience I think.

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