Rudy had abandoned his interest in using the potty when we moved. I expected as much. Today, he decided he was ready to experiment further. Right after dinner, he asked to use the potty. Of course, I obliged. I stripped him down to a t-shirt and sat him on our potty. Rudy promptly farted and announced he was done and ready to flush. Sigh. I put his diaper back on, neglecting to replace his pants since I thought he may be ready for second try at it in a few minutes.
I got busy with my after dinner dish washing, and was just wondering to myself what we should do with our post dinner, pre-bed time, when I heard a little voice behind our closed hallway door saying, "Boo boos, boo boos?" Hmm. He usually calls boo boos 'owies'. Still, I imagined him holding something dangerous and contemplating the chances of injury with this boo boos inquiry. I hurried to open the door, only to find an (ever so slightly) less alarming scene: Poo poos. On the carpet. Right in front of the closed bathroom door. And all through the hallway where my sweet little man had tracked them from a misstep into the mess at some point between doing the deed and announcing it to me.
I squelched a scold in my throat and replaced it with a question: "Where's your diaper?" Rudy proudly took me to the place he'd stripped his diaper off- right behind me in the kitchen. Maybe I should have been keeping a slightly more vigilant eye on him. I asked the next question while lowering him into the tub for a hose down, "Where are poo poos really supposed to go?" "In the POTTY!" Rudy replied with glee. "So, why did you poo on the floor instead?" To this, Rudy replied very seriously, "Owies, Mommy, owies."
Jason has drilled it into Rudy's head that the bathroom is a place full of potential owies. It's the drowning paranoia in him. Plus, right now we do have a laundry shoot in easy access to Rudy. A trip down that, or getting stuck in it, could cause some serious owies, so I guess it's good to give Rudy a healthy respect for the possibilities, but he's also got to see the everyday practicality of the place.
So. Rudy and I have agreed that next time he wants to try putting his poo poos somewhere other than his diaper, he should come get me, and we'll go to the potty together. That way, he won't get any owies, and I won't have to scrub the carpet.
That, and I've learned that I need to keep pants on him, or a onesie at least, so that he can't just rip his diaper off in a matter of seconds.
2 comments:
Yesturday I walked into the bathroom just in time to see Diaperless-Sunshine pick something up and plunk it into the toilet. I rushed over to see what it was, only to discover three more "mysteries" just like it...Poo blobs. Apparently she took her diaper off, walked into the bathroom and pooped on the floor (I'm telling myself that it happened in the bathroom, but realisticly it could have happened anywhere in that area of the house), and then proceeded to pick up her mess, one piece at a time, and put it where it really belonged.
and as I am typing this I am thinking, "if I wasn't a mommy, and she wasn't my daughter I would probably be dry-heaving after reading this"
Uh oh. I must be a mom. No offense to you and Lauren, but I laughed when I read it. No dry heaving here. Of course it's always funnier when it's not your kid. But I do think there are cute and sweet kids-learning-the-right-thing-to-do examples in these stories - Rudy not wanting to get owies and Sunshine putting poo in the potty. Perhaps it's just that after dealing with so much poop and pee in my life (and knowing you two do too) I figure it's not TOO tramatic. Just a pain. And a bit gross.
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