Tuesday, November 30, 2010

I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to post about P-O-O

But here's the deal. I really don't care . . .


JR is fairly well potty trained. The only challenge we've come to face is the "poopy" parts. While he has no trouble announcing its impending arrival, "POO POO coming!" and then hightailing it to the toilet, he does have some relational issues.

He has trouble . . . letting go.

"Mama, poo poo coming!" I race behind him as he scrambles toward the bathroom, pulling down his pants as he runs. He tosses the McQueen (CARS) toilet seat on the toilet and springs (and I do mean SPRINGS) on top, shifting his legs beneath him, tucking his boy parts beneath the pee protector.

Grunt. Grunt. Grunt. Red face. Squeeze.


"Mama, I did it!" Hands go in the air. I cheer as if I have just been notified that I am indeed a finalist for the Nobel Prize in potty training. This is my job. I do it well. I scream, whistle, hug and give what has become known as our finale--the double fist pump.

"Mama, look!" He peers into the toilet, admiring his handiwork.

"Yup, you did good little man! You have one big one and one tiny one." I support his curiosity. This is what good mothers do.

"Mama, oh, is so-eee cute!" He grins at me, indicating his belief in the aesthetic value of the smaller poop.

"Yeah, it kinda is," I say supportively. "OK, buddy, time to flush." I don't want to rush a good thing, but I fear this quality time has run its course.

We spend a few more moments in admiration. I'm fading fast. I remind him it is time to flush, wash hands, go play. His eyes narrow and he begins the whine. I try again. He laments, again. I can't take a poo dirge. I simply can't.

"Hey, JR, let's tell the poo poo bye and that will see it soon, OK?" The promise that they will meet again has worked. He reaches for the handle and slowly flushes.

"See you soon, poo poo!" He waves. It waves back in a swirl and disappears.


"Mama! Poo poo coming." And here we go.

Grunt. Squirm. Red face. Plop.

He jumps off the toilet in dramatic fashion, performing a sort of half spin as he faces the toilet, head bent down.

"Poo poo, you came back!" He turns to face me, perhaps realizing that I am a mother who keeps her promises. I lift my shoulders with pride. This is what good mothers do, you know.

"Oh, poo poo" he rejoices. Yes, indeed it came back.

My son can hardly contain his excitement while relishing in his good fortune.

"Yes, JR, it sure did." I make mental doodles in my head.

"Is sooooo--eeee cute!" And here we go again.

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Two Peas
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