This was a rough week for me... as you can tell from what was probably an overly-dramatic post last week. Ben was out of town, I am waiting for word on my baby, I got the rough and stressful fundraising news, and did I mention Ben was out of town?
Another low-light of the week incuded watching Taly face-plant off some playground eqipment. Um, hi? Montgomery County? Playground rails are more helpful if they don't start at the child's head. Oh? What's that? Playgrounds are only really safe if parents are vigilantly watching? Right. Thanks. Learned my lesson.
Thankfully, she was fine. And the scrape on her chin and bloody lip healed just in time for her face-plant on the sidewalk yesterday. The only things to blame for that one are little feet that can't quite keep up with the rest of a toddler's body.
But, there is reason to celebrate! A huge reason, actually. My year-and-a-half ordeal that some would call potty-training, but that I lovingly refer to as Mommy's Worst Nightmare, has ended.
Remember back to the doctor's appointment of tears and trauma? In the midst of all the wailing (mine) and screaming (Sy's), I mentioned Sy's poop problems to the doctor. She told him that once the pull-ups in the bathroom were gone, there would be no more and he'd have to go in the potty.
My kid is not stupid. He told her, "Don't worry, we can go to the store and buy more."
I said (in my head), "Whatever lady. I am SOOOOO done with this poop nightmare. If he wants to poop in pull-ups until he's 10, then so be it." And then I never brought it up again.
Well, recently, Simon announced that once the pull-ups were gone he was going to poop in the potty. Yeah, okay, like the time that once you turned 3 you were going to poop in the potty? And, once you turned 4 you were going to poop in the potty? Mmmm-hmmm.
Ben talked him into sitting on the potty wearing a pull-up to poop as a sort of baby step toward the goal. That baby step only resulted in me cleaning poop up off the floor, and I thought the trauma would set us back another year.
But, the other day, Sy walked out of the bathroom, pants around his ankles and announced that he had pooped in the potty. Since he'd already flushed, I had no way to verify his claim. So, I did what any skeptical, frustrated, husband's-out-of-town mom would do, and I checked his butt. Sure enough, there were traces of poop. TMI?
Well, it's done. He keeps pooping in the potty, and now he's taking care of all wiping duties as well. I feel like I've graduated from some sort of disgusting boot camp, and I deserve a major graduation present.
And, Simon, now that you're finally doing all of your bathroom duties in the bathroom, Mommy officially considers you old enough to keep your bathroom stories to myself.
So, to the Longest Poop Saga Ever, I give a hearty "The End!"