Smiling Mom

Hey, keep your voi­ces low! Don’t let her know that I’m tal­king about this!

To say I’m supers­ti­tious would be a very fair assess­ment of the situa­tion. Lower your voi­ces everyone.

Ready?

eClaire is begin­ning to go potty in the toilet.

Seriously.

When’s her second birth­day? Oh ya, mid January!

Every night eClaire asks to go potty before I put her in her jam­mies. So lately I’ve been put­ting her on the toi­let. She’s been giving a few potty drips a day which warran­ted the crazy mom and family dance around the house and a spe­cial sugary treat.

But last night when eClaire asked to go potty, my dear daugh­ter let loose and peed, I mean really peed.

Smi­ling Mom was thrilled!

And then, as if it couldn’t get bet­ter, this mor­ning eClaire stood up and said, “I go potty!”

I took off her jam­mies and dia­per. She ran to the bath­room, hop­ped on the toi­let AND WENT POTTY!! A LOT OF POTTY!

Ok, I’m whis­pe­ring again, I just got very excited!

Smi­ling Mom did her obno­xious, “eClaire went pooottttyyy” dance and dished out the goods.

Is this the begin­ning of the end of dia­pers for me??? weeeeehhhhheeeee!!

Last night BC slept in his PJ’s without a pull up.  All night long!!

I woke him up around 11:00 to go to the bath­room, and again at 4:30 when Hubby went to work.  But he sta­yed dry throughout the night.  Actually he’s been dry for the last few week hence last night’s attempt.

In the daze of the night I found myself saying:

SM:  Please, please don’t fall asleep on the toilet.

SM: I didn’t see the shake shake.  How am I sup­pose to know if you went potty yet?

SM: Make sure you push your penis into the toi­let so you don’t spray me with potty.

SM: I know your penis is stic­king straight out, but you still need to try to go potty.

SM: Good boy!  If you need to go potty, just get out of bed and go.  Don’t call for me, just go.  Then go straight back to sleep.

SM:  Please.  Straight back to bed.

Appa­rently I’m not the only one dis­cus­sing bath­room issues these days!

Here’s the scene:

A friend’s son’s first birth­day party. It’s 100 degrees outside. Yes, in April, one hun­dred degrees. We arri­ved just 10 minu­tes before. BC had already befrien­ded a cou­ple girls in their early twen­ties and was asking them to play. eClaire was dres­sed ado­rably in her baby doll red and white flo­wer dress, coming just to her bot­tom with red briefs under­neath. She was stan­ding in the cor­ner of the back­yard, hol­ding onto the fence, sta­ring expres­sion­less at the lady trying to make nice to her.

Could that be eClarie’s ‘poop’ face I see? Couldn’t pos­sibly! eClaire already had a nice, mushy diarrhea just hours before. Damn molars. Na, she’s just being shy.

eClaire is fee­ling more com­for­ta­ble, walks toward the ren­ted cir­cu­lar table and says, “Hi,” to the lady who was pre­viously making nice to her.

Smi­ling Mom: “Ah, that’s nice. She rarely talks with peo­ple other than those she’s most com­for­ta­ble with.”

eClaire to me: “Up, peese” I love the man­ners on my 15 month old. Or maybe she just doesn’t know any dif­fe­rent at this point.

I promptly lift her up to my lap. She’s clingy, and I feed into it. I just love having a daugh­ter who wants to be cudd­led by me.

She sits on my lap, and imme­dia­tely gets down.

I look down ‚at my lap, to my cute new shorts and my inex­pen­sive, yet sty­lish new tank top.

There is a puddle, Puddle of liquidy, chunky diarrhea laying on it.

Diarrhea num­ber two of three for the day just happened.

That little shit.

So the other night my very ver­bal 2.5 year old son, BC, infor­med me that it was time to call Grandpa, something we do often. So I dia­led Non­nie & Grandpa’s phone num­ber, put them on spea­ker phone and han­ded it to BC. My son is at the point where he’ll carry on a com­plete con­ver­sa­tion without any promp­ting, so I just let the con­ver­sa­tions evolve as they go.

Grandpa ans­wers the phone: Hello

Get­ting right to the point BC says: Hey Grandpa

Gpa: What!

BC: I’ve got to go poo-poo.

Gpa: So, go.

BC: No, I want to go at your house.

(We live in Northern Cali­for­nia and Grandpa lives in Southern Cali­for­nia, 7.5 hours away)

Gpa: Sure, come on down, and you can go.

BC: OK, (tur­ning to me) Mommy, we need to get in the car and go to Grandpa’s house.

The con­ver­sa­tion con­ti­nues for another minute or so about the same topic.

Finally Grandpa says: Hey BC, do you think you can hold your poo-poo until you get here? It’s a long drive.

BC: (5 second pause and an inc­re­du­lous look on his face) NOOOO, Ew, that’s gross, Grandpa. I’m not going to hold my poo-poo. YUCK, (tur­ning to me) Mommy, Grandpa told me to hold my poo-poo. Eww!!

Essen­tially BC was saying, “What kind of Dumb-A** tells his grand­son to take his poop and put it in his hand? Does he think I’m stu­pid??” At this point all of us were in tears laughing. It couldn’t have been funnier!

Two days later, BC, Grandpa and I are still telling the story to anyone who will lis­ten. I figu­red that I should pro­bably docu­ment it so I remem­ber to tell this tale at his gra­dua­tion, wed­ding, or any other place I deem fit.

Do you have a funny “potty humor” story? Please leave me a com­ment telling me what was said or done!