Timing is Everything

As the moon waxes and wanes, so goes my impulse to write. I feel sudden urges, much like my toddler who is learning how it feels when he has to "go". And I do believe this is a learned behavior, a skill, he is developing.

Take yesterday. On a generous whim, I decided to let him make the decision whether he walked through the grocery store (as opposed to riding in the cart. A much safer enterprise. Less bolting. And broken ketchup bottles. Et cetera.) We piled up the stroller basket with items, my infant eagerly watching how this was to unfold. All was going great. We had probably, oh, 20 or 25 or 50 items in the basket including all the baby food jars.

Time to check out. I was nervous. With my attention focused on loading all the grocery items onto the little conveyor belt, my toddler could seize upon the opportunity to bolt back into the store ("I'M FREE!!! I'm FREEEEEEEEEE!")

But, I come from a strict "Don't Fire Until Fired Upon" Philosophy, so I held the whistle and waited patiently while the chatty, well-meaning grocery clerk checked out the person in front of me. Very. Very. Slowly.

The Chatty, Well-Meaning grocery clerk finally looked up and started checking me out.
Beep! Beep! She starts scanning the items, bagging them, chatting all the way. Beep! My toddler looks up at me, and starts crossing and criss-crossing his legs.

Uh oh.

"Mommy, does this store have a bathroom, do you think?"
Hoo-boy. "Yes, sweetheart, they definitely do. Do you need to... ?"
"Yes, I need to go potty." Legs criss-crossed again. I glance at the conveyor belt. Only 49 items to go.
He shifts his weight and looks up again. "Mommy, I need to make a 'whoa'." That is his word for #2.

We are trapped in the grocery store checkout line with 3 people behind us. And my toddler has to go make a whoa. Right then.

I rattle off the situation to the grocery clerk. With lightning fast reflexes, she speeds up to 100X her previous speed. I run my card through the thing, pick up my toddler, push my infant in the stroller to the back of the store; way, way back. Where he does go. And wow, did he have to go.

Then, (and I'm sweating now) I race back to the front of the store to find out what happened. Do other people do this? I wonder as I run past shelves of cereal boxes I forgot to buy. Am I the first? I think to myself, knowing I am not.

Finally, we make it. Back to the line. Back to back of the line. The Chatty, Well-meaning grocery clerk recognizes me and smiles.

"Did we make it?" She winks.

We made it.

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RTT? Potty Mouth

I have something random for ya. We are deeply in the throes of potty training at our house. Rock the House.

I had such a dearth of good, interesting, funny stories on my blog last week, that I plan to more than make up for it this week. If you've never had a child, or your potty training was seamless and easy, you may want to skip this post. I just can't relate.

On Saturday morning, I heard my newly-turned two year old alternating between crying, and talking to himself. Gentle crying, then yammer yammer to (conceivably) his various animals and blankets that accompany him in his crib nightly. It was early, I still had sleep in my eyes, but I was intrigued. He doesn't normally alternate crying with jabbering.

I opened the door, and subtly contained my shock, disgust and dismay as I found my toddler, buck naked in his crib, holding on to one of his poops.

That's right. Holding on to it, as if he just wasn't ready to let that one go.. yet.

I quelled my guttural reactions (puking, acting nauseated), and whisked him to the toilet next door, explaining where it is we go poop. I then scrubbed his hands for about an hour several minutes, while my bleary-eyed husband stumbled in, still half-asleep, asking what was going on. I actually didn't have to say anything. The naked hand washing gave it away!

We started officially potty training last week, at the encouragement of our pediatrician, who told me that 1) because our toddler is interested, 2) because it's warm and summery, finally, and 3) I'm not due until November, now is the time.

We've had a few other acrimonious accidents. He peed on the ottoman. He peed on his brand new MegaBloks tractor. He pooped on his toddler chair. Okay, so they aren't that funny. But he is getting it. He understands the need to go, just can't always make it to the proper spot to do it.

Hey, that's happened to the best of drunk college students. Just.. can't.. quite.. make it to the toliet.

So, if you are easily grossed out, pass out at the sight of words referencing defecation, you might pass on my blog this week. Otherwise, all help and advice, book recommendations, and sedative prescriptions are welcomed! Let 'em rip!

C'mon.. give us your best potty training story ever. Dare ya!

And go see Keely for better random number generation. She's better at it.

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