Do you all remember Monkey3? Well, have I got a story for you! (No pictures though. You'll thank me later.)
So, Monkey2 is officially potty-trained, which has led to tremendous rejoicing chez moi, and specifically on the part of Yours Truly. I will say, every. single. time. she makes it into the toilet, I feel like jumping up and down, and cheering. (As a side note, I would like to point out that this marks the first time since Monkey2 was born, 3.5 YEARS AGO that I have had only ONE child in diapers.)
So I'm really excited about potty training these days. Sunday my friend was telling me her son has suddenly decided to potty train himself. ( I did this at age two. Why can't my children take after me?) Her son is the same age as Monkey3.
That afternoon, I was sitting on the sofa when Monkey3 came over to say hello. As he was climbing me, the sofa, and everything else in sight, I heard a little toot. I said "Do you need to use the potty?" Yes, he did. He thinks it's great fun to sit on the potty. After watching him for three or four minutes I decided nothing was happening, but since he wasn't ready to be done yet, I just left him there and went on about my business.
Finish shaking your heads in pity and disgust, and then I'll continue.
Right, so about five minutes later, I asked my poor husband to check on Monkey3. He walked around the corner into the bathroom, and I heard "Oh, no. Oh, disgusting!"
I overcame my urge to suddenly become very occupied with Something Very Important That Cannot Be Put On Hold, and peered nervously through the bathroom door. What a sight. There was Monkey3 on the changing table with poop smeared all over his legs. There was poop on the floor. There was poop on the counter. There were several large pieces in the sink. I asked the Mad Scientist "Did you put this in the sink?" He just looked at me. (I deserved that.)
So he cleaned up the monkey, while trying not step in any smears. I cleaned up everything else. We gave Monkey3 a stern explanation of the idea that poop belongs in the potty. (I thought about my poor MOPS leader, who shared at the last meeting that she had just explained to her son that "Poop is not art." Now I have also had that talk.) Then we threw him in the bathtub.
It makes the finger paint all over my walls seem like such a blessing. :-) It could be so much worse...
(To see the post that inspired me to tell you this story, head over to Vita Familiae.)