When my children do something funny, but it’s not funny to them, I find it hard not to laugh. In fact, I am *terrible* at suppressing my laughter and I think it might be doing permanent damage to their mental health.
This morning I had to get Emma to pee in a cup… no, not for my own personal enjoyment, but because it was doctor’s orders. I’d been pouring water into her all morning. Finally it was time to pee.
We lifted both lids of the toilet and she hunkered over the bowl. We waited. Nothing. I wondered where all the water was being stored – four or five cups worth at least. A short burst – a sudden squirt. I missed.
“That’s it mummy.” Her tone was one of resignation.
“There’s no more pee?” I held the cup up to the light. I had managed to catch two or three drops. Max. There was no way the doctor could do anything with this. This was the equivalent of a mouse pee.
She seemed sad. She really wanted to see what her pee looked like.
Then … an sudden unexpected gush. I should have been paying attention. She peed all over my hand, the cup (I now feel sorry for the lab techs who have to handle these cups of pee) and thankfully the rest dribbled into the toilet. As I struggled to put the cap on the cup she jumped up and did a little cheer, and then promptly stumbled backwards into the toilet.
I’m sure the neighbors could hear the howls (hers, not mine).
She got up quickly enough, but the damage was done. Her entire backside was soaked. I tried hard to contain my laughter (jeez, I had to drudge up images of DEATH and DISMEMBERMENT in order to quash the laughter) and ran to get paper towels, all the while chuckling into the sleeve of my sweater.
But I think it was too late. She saw me laughing. Lord help me raise normal, well-adjusted children. Even though they have a mother who laughs at them.
