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Bum-bum

Conversations with Vincent’s teachers:

And then a little back story so it all makes sense.

So this month started off a hard potty push. Did you know it was February? Well, it is and the potty storm starts now.

Yesterday I was instructed to bring more long pants, underwear and another pack of pull-ups. And to prepare myself for the fact that he will be in underwear only for half the day, to see how he does and to help make him aware of how it actually feels.

I haven’t had time to do that thing that Mummies with freetime do in magazines when they let their kids run naked and just pee freely so they can ‘feel’ it. Damn you Mums with free time!

So we are letting him start with a half day in underwear and then hopefully things will just go from there.

Which is where they were today. He was in diapers this morning and briefs this afternoon. Those briefs got soaked about 30 minutes before I picked him up and he wanted nothing to do with them. Or cleaning up.

“Ms Bellysol, my bum-bum get a wet. You change it? My bum-bum?” he told them.

“Your bum-bum?! Who told you it was your bum-bum?, said Ms Belloysol.

“My¬† Mummy told a me dis my bumbum,” he said solemnly.

And then his teachers apparently laughed at me. They had never heard that expression before. It made me feel very Canadian. Not that that is what we all go around saying but… well, isn’t it that what you call it when you are 2? In Canada?

Am I Robin Sparkling myself?

Anyways, V’s ‘bumbum’ got ‘a wet’, he got changed and then that was the end of day one of serious, hardcore, totally bad-ass potty training…

xoxo a.m.

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Monday night poop

The last 2 weeks or so seem to be the beginning of a vocabulary explosion in the Little Man. And sentence structure. And chattering. Non-stop.

Vince’s latest things to say?

“Mummy, that’s funny!”

“Chewie, don’t bite Mummy’s pants. That’s bad.”

“Chewie is too noisy. Be quiet!”

And this evening?

“Mummy? Vincent poo-poo bath-tub! Ewww! Stinky poo!”

I thought it was all talk. But, as it turns out, it was action too. “Daddy!!”, I hollered, “I need you!!”

“What?!” Edward shouted in reply.

“Poop in the tub!! I need help!”

And so while Edward got V cleaned up, pajamaed and read him a few stories, I fished poo out of the tub with a paper towel. This is not a fun game. The motion of the paper towel under water causes ripples that make the poo drift away from your paper-wrapped hand.

And if, say, you had a tub filled with bubbles, it turns into ‘hide and seek with poo’. Not ‘Hide and Seek with Pooh’ as that would actually be fun. Just me, on my knees beside the tub carefully scooping turds out and depositing them into the toilet.

Funnily enough, V was not in the slightest bit upset that this happened. Like the last few times it did. He was just very matter of fact. And then stood there, very patiently, while I fished him out of the tub and rinsed him off. And then promptly told Daddy all about it when he came upstairs.

There might have been a hint of pride in his retelling of the story.

Lord. Help. Us.

What a perfect ending to a lovely day…

xoxo a.m.

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