“Hey Mom, check my butt,” I hear from the bathroom. I glance through the doorway and am met with the sight of Toby in a reasonable facsimile of downward dog, ass to me, family jewels dangling on display.

It’s a sight that pre-motherhood would have freaked me out. A lot. Now it just made me laugh out loud.

We’re in the ‘learning to wipe’ phase of potty training and apparently this ‘check’ of their effectiveness is something they do at daycare. My hat is off to you ladies if you see a chorus line of this sight each day.

If the childbirth process eliminated any vestiges of dignity I had, motherhood has made me immune to sights and tasks that would have broken the non-mom me. It’s like we’re lobsters thrown head first into the boiling pot of disgusting bodily functions. Once you’ve dealt with diapers, you really feel like a butt-check is a vacation.