Monday, July 26, 2010

On Poo

This is not a post about Winnie the Pooh, though I really wish it were.  Nope.  This is a post on poo.  You may stop reading now.  I've warned you.

Dear sweet 23-month-old Ya is in the beginning phase of potty training. A few successful efforts at the hotel convinced me he had enough control of his equipment to make the toilet lessons possible.  And the fact that he couldn't bear the feeling of a wet diaper against his toosh all of a sudden further convinced me the time had come.

And so, I bought a box of Pull-Ups. 

Ya, however, has decided he will decide when and how frequently he will use the toilet for his business.  If he choses to do so in the diaper, well then, you must change him immediately - - even if you are standing in line to meet the Incredibles and have been waiting impatiently for 20 minutes to have aforementioned meeting. If you didn't get the verbal notice (sometimes "Ma? Potty." sometimes, "Ma, diaper." sometimes just the removal of diaper and pants regardless of surroundings), don't be surprised if Ya is no longer wearing the outfit lovingly wrestled onto him that morning.

On with the poo.  Or, rather, out with it. 

Yesterday, while I was trying to get the finishing touches on my Florida story, Ya was happily playing beside my desk.  He was wearing only his diaper and a tee shirt, having refused all opportunities to put on other clothing.  And then he was sans diaper and missing.  The diaper, next to me.  Ya, gone.  When he returned, he let out an almost inaudible grunt and then an excited and happy squeal.  "Look!"

There, on my rug (and very near the abandoned diaper) was a lovely, fresh poo.  Oh my ggg...

And seeing that Ya was so very proud of his, um, creation, I couldn't very well be noticably upset.  So I said, "Oh, look, a poo poo. Let's put it in the toilet."  And he smiled ever-so-sweetly at me while he crouched to admire his product. 

Once in the poo had been relocated to its new home in the toilet, Ya insisted on flushing.  I had left the toilet closet to wash my hands (ewww, poo!).  And then I saw him go for the toilet paper.  He had let a significant amount fall to the ground, but kept unrolling.  I told him "too much" and he stopped spinning the role, grabbed one sheet, and proceeded to stick his hand into the toilet.  I moved quickly to him and saw slightly too late that poo had secured itself to the side of the toilet basin and refused to move.  So Ya, with his one sheet of toilet paper, set out to free it from the bowl and send it away.  Oh my ggg...

We washed our hands with heavy amounts of soap. I scrubbed the carpet with pet odor and stain remover (what else is there to use?).  And I secured a new diaper to my little not-so-ready-to-be-trained boy.

I've decided that now, more than ever, I really don't like poo - - especially not when it's on my floor.

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