Dare I say it: Tyler is potty trained.  Oh, yes.  Yes, he is.  (And a full six months before his brother was, on our first trek down the Avenue of Three-Year-Old Boys.)
It was not without heartache to his mother, of course.  We thought we had mastered this a month ago.  We counted the stickers, mastered days of dryness, sang, danced, and chocolated ourselves into each bathroom stall, and we finally celebrated mightily with a grand trip to Chuck E Cheese.  (Because what says milestone better than bad pizza?)
And the next day, when Tyler used the potty, he said, "And where is my m&m?"
"Oh, you don't need one anymore.  Because you're a big boy now, and you wear big kid underwear, and we went to Chuck E Cheese, and you don't need an m&m.  That's just while you're learning.  You know how now."
And he looked at me, like, "Oh, really?  You think I do?  Wanna bet?"
And we regressed entirely.  The boy decided that if it wasn't a party, if there would be no singing, dancing, cheering, and celebrating, then he wasn't interested.
Well, he wins.  Out came the m&m's.  Because really, it's a small price to pay for a diaper-free home.  And who can't benefit from a handful of extrinsic motivation, I ask you?
All of that to say: he is a master at it now.  He knows the signs, he can anticipate the warnings, and he is a total pro.
So much so that on a recent lunch date with my mom, he stopped mid-meal and said, "Mommy!  My poop is coming out right now!"
And if you have potty trained, you know that there is a brief window in which you will accept such graphic representations of bodily functions, even at the dinner table, if it means that we avoid the looming threat.
So, I scooped him up, we ran to the bathroom, and we made it just in time.  Whew.  Good work, kiddo. 
And as he ran back to our table at Qdoba, on a grand display before the world, he shouted, "Grandma!  I POOPED ON THE POTTY!" 
And as I followed behind him, three women patted me on the back.  Two of them applauded him.
Because apparently, they've done this journey, too.
 
 
 
1 comment:
I can't count how many times I read your stories and I have to smile because I have a matching one of my own. Qdoba for you, Red Robin for me. Same exact story though.
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