And I'm on a very short leash.
This weekend, Two-Year-old dealt the toddler trump card. He officially opened Pandora’s Potty, unabashedly displaying his toilet readiness. His potty power can not be denied, and to respond “No” or “Wait a minute” or “Do it yourself” is ignorance defined.
For the next days, weeks, hell MONTHS, even before the “P” leaves his mouth for “Pee-Pee in da…” we’re off on the potty relay; abandoning full grocery carts, dodging innocent bystanders, ripping off 2Ts, and fumbling with germ-ridden public toilet seats. By the time we get to “..otty” we’d better be staring down at porcelain or a nice private shrub.
Often the accommodations prove less ideal:
Watch out for the seat! Don’t touch tha—UCKY. NO! Not that! That is for…uh…diapers, ladies’ diapers! Never mind. Hold on to your penis, you have to hold ON! That’s enough toilet paper. That’s PLENTY. N-N-N-No hands in the potty. Don’t touch the—of course you can flush. Great Job! Potty Dance! So proud so proud so proud, don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch. There’s a Party in my Potty, SO Yummy So Yummy. No! Not Yummy!! Uckyuckyucky. Wash your hands. COME BACK HERE. You MUST wash your hands. Yes you can do it yourself. SorrySorrySorry. Go Ahead. YES your turn. Clean and dry! Yes clean and dry. So proud. Mamas proud, Daddys proud, Nanas proud--NOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo NOT the trash caaannnnnn…
Once merely a diaper-bag Sherpa, I now resemble the packhorse, laden with changes of clothes and micro-underpants and diapers and wipes in case of the dreaded punami.
No need for congratulations nor condolences...just a box of wine and some knee pads. Thanks.
Monday, May 18, 2009
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