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.
Plop.
"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.
***THE NEXT DAY***
"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.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to post about P-O-O
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7 comments:
Hahaha!!! Such a typical boy. And man too, for that matter! ;)
My boys love their poos too. They always have to tell me about a particularily large or smelly poo. Oh the joy. ;)
Good to hear from you again. Even if it is about poo. ;)
how is it that there are no children in my house and that this is like my house, entirely?
My second son is 26 years old. He came over to the house last weekend, wife in tow, to visit. The toilet. 'The Toilet' was always something he took great pride in. He seemed to think it was his life's work to fill it as much as possible.
Anyway, when he was done he came out of the bathroom and started the first sentence he'd spoken to me in a week with "Hey, Dad. Wanna see this?"
I remember those glory days too. If I can get the teen to CLEAN his toilet now, my work will be done.
Congrats to J and you!
This is worth recording. I don't care if he gets embarrassed at 12, he'll appreciate it at 30.
Very sweet.
Now THAT is just funny! :)
How funny! Great story to trot out for the girlfriends..
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