Like clockwork.

It's about ten minutes past lunchtime. The three of us are well into playing a game when Rachel pops up and declares that she's going to the playroom. Lily and I don't mind, because, after all, she doesn't exactly play by the rules of "Go Fish", making it rather obnoxious to try and get a match. She thinks she's hiding something from us, but the predictability of this routine has become so, well, predictable, that I've figured her out. Still, I let her do her thing, allowing her to believe that she's maintaining some level of privacy for her bowel movement. I don't know exactly what happens between her ascent up the stairs and my discovery of a very stinky playroom 15 minutes later that makes her so embarrassed to do it in our presence. But not only does she hide from me, she lies about it when I approach the subject, as if the fumes hadn't already given her secret away.
It's the same every day. If Rachel poops any time other than the post-lunch hour, it's probably because I fed her too many strawberries. There's something about that playroom, though, because every time I babysit someone else's un-pottytrained child, he/she will inevitably do his/her business in the privacy of our toy-filled room. Which also leads me to wonder - do my friends send their children over at a particular time of day, knowing that I will have to wipe their bums, or do their kids just poop at less predictable times than my two-year-old? Cause seriously, it happens every. single. time.