My three and a half year old has been wearing underwear for a year. But relieving herself in the toilet was only one step of potty-training. There are about 40 other steps that are conveniently skipped over in parenting books. The "transition from little potty chair to big potty" step. The "yes, you must flush every time you go potty" step. The "weening from potty-rewards step" (otherwise known as, "no, grown-ups don't get M&Ms for pooping" step.) The "privacy without locking yourself in the bathroom" step. The "not everyone wants to see your new Hello Kitty underwear" step. The "not discussing what mommy is doing in the toilet in public bathrooms" step.
Dear fiber one bars, I love you. You are delicious but I am seeing a problem when eating you these days. The feeling of having my intestines trying to come out my nose is causing a wee bit of a problem. Not to mention bubbles. Yes, bubbles. That's as much as I am willing to say for now. I'm not breaking up with you completely, I just won't be seeing you everyday. I hope you understand.
Sometimes when I sneeze, I follow it up with a quiet little "Yesss!" This is because I believe that after having 2 children, if you can sneeze and NOT let just a little bit of wee out, it deserves a celebration.
When I was a brand-new first-time Mum, I learned that the worst part of being terribly short-sighted is changing dirty nighttime nappies. Without contact lenses, you have to get extremely close to the -err- project to do a good cleanup job. And of course, 'extremely close' is the least desirable place to be.
For those of you who haven't tried to pee in a cup while 36+ weeks pregnant, let me just explain the procedure. You hover and hold the cup and just pee with reckless abandon praying you'll hear the pee hitting inside the cup.
"Daddy?" "Yes, Emme?" "Daddy. Emme has to pee." "You have to or you did?" "Have to." "Alright, do you want to go in the potty?" "Hmm." "OK, let's go" "Emme pees in mommy and daddy's potty." "OK, sure." "Emme pees like daddy." "Yes, you can pee in daddy's potty. Let me get this diaper off..." "No, Emme pees like daddy." "What? No, no. You have to sit down. Stop — sit down!" "Emme's peeing like daddy!" "Well Emme's going to clean up like daddy, too."
I'm sure there are more disgusting things than cleaning soaking wet chucks of poop out of the bathwater and then sanitizing both the children and the toys they were playing with, but at the moment, I'm having trouble remembering what those things might be.
This morning I was sitting on the toilet doing what one does while sitting on the toilet when I realized the bathroom window was open. How did I realize that? A big gust of wind came along and blew the curtain aside leaving me and all my pants-around-the-ankles glory exposed to the 3 roofers working on the house next door. I hope they enjoyed the show. And by "show" I mean the slapstick comedy that occurred when I sprang up from the toilet, lunged towards the window, tripped over my own pants and nearly crashed through the screen. All without actually managing to close the curtain so that it was just me and my naked ass pressed up against the window.
Can someone please explain to me why anyone, no matter what age, would hold in a crap if they had to go? Not to be too graphic, but the last place you want to be is between me and the bathroom after a bowl of All-Bran and a pot of coffee.
Yes, boys are very different from girls and nowhere is this more evident than on the changing table. I now remember Punky's poops fondly; they were, after all, easily contained in her diaper and smelled, I'm now convinced, like delicate roses barely past their prime. Bruiser's poops, on the other hand, are horrid, fetid, biohazardous monstrosities that test the limits of even the most durable diaper.
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