The Porcelain Tea Party

Nervously, I squinted through blurry eyes and a foggy glass door, toward Katie standing in the middle of the bathroom. Just standing. Something was wrong. She's almost two. She never stands still. It's not natural. What was she holding in her hands? I cracked open the door, sacrificing my shower's sanctuary to the cold.

Oh, relief, a cough syrup cup. Of course, I keep the cough syrup itself out of reach, but leave bandaids, little plastic cups, and a few other things in lower cabinets, just to keep her in view while I rush through a shower. Of course, all the expensive and ubiquitous toys in this house don't hold her interest. A few plastic cups and Q-tips, however, are like an archeological treasure. I won't digress here, into this subject. It would just lead to observations about Madeline's "puppy" she made out of a scrap of 2x4 with a knot in it, a length of plastic coated wire, and a piece of green plastic packing strip. It now has a permanent home in our garage.

Back to the subject at hand, and wishing desperately that I'd decided to put in my contacts before my shower, I noticed the triumphant grin on her face and the tilt of the cup in her hands as she pretended to drink from it. Pretended, right? After all, where would she get water?

A quick glance to my right. No, the W.C. door was closed, thank God. Surely not there. I mean, Winston, my trash-eating dog doesn't even do that. Oh, wait a minute, Katie does have that fetish with closing doors. No, arrogantly, I'd like to think that my own flesh-and-blood has the mental ability to recognize the difference between drinking water, and...

Besides, Katie never solves her own problems, you know. She cries, whines, screams, throws tantrums, or occasionally asks nicely for me to solve them. Surely at this exact moment on this exact day, she wouldn't decide to figure this one out on her own, right? If she wanted real water she would have asked me to get some from the shower, right?

"Katie," I ventured, "do you have water in your cup?"

Answered first by a radiant grin, I watched in dread as her left arm slowly raised a pointed finger toward the closed door, and in a single word she declared her independence.

"Potty!"