I was talking to a Mommy Friend of mine the other day and I ended up taking the conversation to the "you don't want to know this, and I know that you don't want to know this, but I'm going to go there and nothing you can say or do will be able to stop me from going there" stage. You see, I have a tendency to voice some of the most inappropriate things known to the female kingdom. Becoming a mommy has made the color of poo a socially acceptable topic of conversation. Afterbirth, stitches down there, kids putting fingers in yucky places and then inhaling deeply just to check out the new aromas... yeah, I talk about it all. Yesterday I caught my 18 month old dropping ice cubes on the floor at a local diner and trying to lick them up, I'm sure that'll come up in conversation soon, along with all of the other weird and, sometimes gross, stuff she does.
Which brings me to one of my more recent things that I derive pleasure/amusement from. I initially tried saying that it's so funny to watch the kids when this particular thing happens, but I know it's more because I know that (TMI here, you'll understand later on) I have the very same experience! It's like, did you ever see your kid pick their nose and tell them that it's gross and then later on you're driving your car or sitting on the can picking away yourself? Exactly.
So without further ado: Little One is doing great with the idea of the potty and I think she's more ready to toilet train than either of us REALLY wants her to be. Lately she's telling me she's poopie right before, during and after the blessed happening actually takes place. Speaking of, she's doing it right now in the living room. Grunt, watery eyes, holding her breath while pushing, yeah. (Taught her to say "turd" last week, absolutely hysterical!) Problem is, she just doesn't want to go #2 on the toilet. I've heard the pediatrician say that children sometimes view their poo as a piece of them and they have a hard time disposing of it in the toilet, which kind of makes sense. I mean, if you've ever toilet trained your child and had to stay with them and watch them take care of their business, you'll know how much it takes out of a wee one, litterally, when they go. The focus, strained facial expressions, pursed lips, glassy eyes, furrowed brows... and then, just as the object of their labors passes, they get The Chill. Yes, that little, unexpected shiver as the load evacuates the hatch. I mean, 4-6 ounces of 98.6 degree matter just left their body. It's like pressing the reset button on the furnace--shutting everything down, cleaning the old coal embers and ashes out, sweeping things down and then starting all over on a new batch of fuel.
So now every time that I shiver, even when my downstairs neighbors have their heat cranked and my apartment is holding at an even 82 degrees (yes, for real), I can't help but think of my kids' watery eyes or their furrowed brows and smile. After all, they take after their mother.
Rolled Jam Buns with Sour Cream Glaze
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