I don’t mind that you follow me into the bathroom whenever I go. It doesn’t really bother me that you empty the cabinet that holds the lotions, some bath toys, and other harmless junk, EVERY time you’re in there. I’m okay with the fact that this morning while you had your back to me, you unwrapped four tampons and threw them into the still-damp-from-your-bath tub. I can handle the fact that you figured out how to get the lid off a tub of vaseline and you rubbed it on the wall. Do you know how hard it is to get that crap off walls? No, you don’t, because I, your loving mother, cleaned it off while you sat on the floor eating strawberries and watching like I was your own personal floor show! I can even deal with your desire to throw my toothbrush down the heating vent. But Rowan, please, please STOP FLUSHING THE TOILET BEFORE I AM DONE!