I've discovered this condition in which perfectly rational people experience transient dementia states, triggered by typically unremarkable bodily functions. I know this because three hours ago, I squealed in absolute delight as my 19 month old daughter delivered poopoo into the potty instead of her diaper. I repeatedly sang the syllables "pee pee" and "poo poo" as we jumped around, and then we jointly made a mess of a white chip chocolate coconut cookie to celebrate.
Had you told me two years ago that I would have this reaction to my child's first potty experience, I would have kindly recommended a Seroquel for those delusions. I'm sure I would have expected some kind of consistent reward system involving skittles or, preferably, whole-grain crackers, to instill a deep love of pottying in my children. And the hearty congratulatory hug and "atta girl!"
But the monkey shenanigans? And reducing myself to monosyllabic nonsense?
I smack my forehead. But it was worth it to see the joy in her little face as she realized she was doing it and her momma was so proud of her! We giggled as we re-dressed her and shared our cookie. Throughout the morning she said, "potty!" with a big smile and pointed in the general direction of the blue bathroom. Yes, darling, behold your new throne!
I'd be lying if I said my joy was purely due to parental pride, though. In my mind, I am already celebrating the end of one child in diapers. As I wiped her hiney, I tried to remember which bin has room to put away her cloth diapers. I made a mental note to pull out the little training undies I have somewhere. Because going potty one time is practically the same as bladder and bowel mastery, no?
In the mind of this momma, who changes roughly 13 diapers daily (huh....it feels like a lot more...), cutting that figure in half can't come soon enough. And the hope of that day is plenty reason to celebrate like a dingbat.
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