On Friday I had a blog post in mind about my little guy, but decided to postpone the post because I had just written about his brother and don’t really have it in me (ie: not allowed in the computer that much!) to do two posts in one busy day. It was all about this amazing physical self-awareness he has. It started before he was sick, stopped during the nastiness of January, and has just re-started.
And then during the business of Friday it was blown out of the water, and once again Paul and I are on the side of reluctant parenting, wherein the children tell us they’re ready for things we weren’t ready to do.
Let me explain: a couple of times a week the little guy would try to pull down his pants and diaper (the diaper only getting partly down his hips and causing quite a sight!) which made me ask, “do you need to go potty?” He would answer affirmatively and I would take him to the bathroom, strip him down, stand him on the stool, and let him pee on the stool in front of the toilet. He had already figured out that he was a boy so sitting down was not an option, but can’t quite get it in the bowl — he isn’t even two years old yet. He’d then dump a third of a roll of toilet paper in the bowl, and flush. Did I mention that he demands privacy? He expells everyone from the room and asks the door to be shut before he does any of this, and we are not allowed to return until he is done. (I now keep the toilet paper in the cabinet instead of on the roll holder. He’ll find it eventually, but it has slowed the speed at which we’ve gone through toilet paper.)
He would do it once or twice a week, but not every week, until Friday, when he did it three times. And Saturday he even pooed. And he’s already had a potty trip this morning.
I always said that my powder room is cleanest when someone is potty training because I’m cleaning it several times a day. The two year old stool is just as clean and white as it was the day we took it home from IKEA. Paul and I are not quite sure how to feel about things. I mean, on the one hand Boy Blue went poo in the bathroom, and that’s cool. On the other hand, he isn’t even two years old, and this has really caught us by surprise. And I think of so many of my friends for whom potty training has been such an ordeal, and I wonder if it’s genetics or something? Is my family just more clued into their digestion than other people? Once the scientists find a cure for cancer, they should look for a potty training gene. I wonder if I could get money for that . . . ?