I just don't know what is possessing you to want to catch your waste in containers. I just don't know why you would want to pee in a bucket or poo in a pitcher. I just don't understand why you would panic and try to scoop your poo with your hands into the toilet and then wipe your hands on the WALL.
I just don't know what would possess you to wipe the remainder of poo all over your ass cheeks while you ran naked from room to room sitting on furniture. Or to smear poo all over the toilet seat and then close the lid.
I just don't know why you would want to lie about it to my face when shown all of the evidence or why you even had poo on your face. I really just don't know.
I know that I told you that the fish bowl was dirty and needed to be cleaned. What I just don't know is why you took it upon yourself to sneak the Clorox Clean-Up Spray and attempt to kill your fish. I think it might live. I just don't know.
Finally, my child, I just don't know how all of this could have taken place in eight minutes. Eight minutes that I was on the phone with your Grandma and you were in a house with 3 adults.
What I do know is that you are methodically trying to find new and amazing ways to kill your poor innocent mother. The mother that feeds you, wipes your bottom and kisses your boo-boos. The mother who now has to stay up and clean remnants of your excrement from all of the fixtures in our home.
I really want to watch you grow up. I want to know who you will be when you grow up. I want to be able to tell your children about the Poo Massacre of 2011.
Please take it easy on me. I am holding on by a thread at this point. Albeit a poo covered thread, it's a thread nonetheless.