Tuck was enjoying the diaper-free portion of his day today. He was running and playing, while I was decorating cupcakes and managing his little brother.
I had gone upstairs for a few minutes, when suddenly this dialogue ensued:
t: "Mommy! Poop! Poop!"
(In my defense, this usually means nothing. It only means that he knows this is currently a favorite topic at our house, as we would love for him to go in the potty. But thus far, it never, ever means that he is ready to sit down and give it a try. So, I didn't respond.)
t: "Mommy! Mommy! Poop! See, Mommy? See?"
Wait. What? See? That means there is something to see. Dear heavens, there is something to see.
I rushed to the landing and looked down into the living room. Sure enough: there on the tile was a pile of poop. (I took a picture, I confess. But I will not post it. I stop just short.)
I suppose this represents a measure of progress. He didn't hold it, anyway. So, I cleaned it up, and I disinfected, and we talked about a much better destination for such a deposit, where I would really rather his piles land.
And then, he wanted to sit on his potty for the longest time. The order is a little backward, but we're working on it.
And I should get lots of extra points for not freaking out over poop on the floor.