help, mom. monk monk poop.

So this weekend Clint and I finished up pratts new playroom. We got all his toys moved up and decided that whatever toys don't fit in the new Elfa shelving...well, that means he has too many. And we will give them away. Don't feel sorry for him, the shelves hold a tremendous amount of stuff.

It's a hit. The playroom, that is. The first night he told Clint, "dad, sit. Stay."

And to the woman who gained 40+ pounds with him pregnant, the woman who pumped her life away, the woman who wipes his butt ALL day, the woman who lets him sit on her lap WHILE she goes potty, well...that woman was told, "mom, up, go" as he pointed out the door.

Yes. I asked him again for clarity. And got the same, "up mom. Bye!"

Not much has changed since that night. Today, Monday, he shut me out again.

Only to come to me when he needed help. Apparently sock monkey crapped himself.

So pratt comes to me for help.

"help, mom. Monk monk potty."









And that's all he really needed me for. To hand him the diaper and fasten it. Then it was back to the playroom...without mom.

With the door closed.

If anyone needs me, I'm home. With a broken heart...



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