I've Always Wanted to go to Spain
So, we are in the early stages of potty training.
That's right - if you're squeamish bail out now.
While I am just thrilled that Jack is getting the concept, giving me a heads up when he's gotta go and enjoying using the "big potty," it is actually a lot of work for the parents.
There's the running to the potty, the flinging off of the diaper, helping him teeter delicately on the giant bowl and so on.
Many times by the time you get in to position it is too late or he has realized maybe it was a false alarm.
All these things we have to take in stride as he learns his personal ... ahem ... timing.
However, in the race to use the potty sometimes things get a little crazy.
Out of control, if you will.
Tonight, Jackson tells me he's got to go "poopie."
"Yay!" I say and we race down the hall.
Which is a hilarious sight to behold - his joyous romp to the bathroom. When is the last time you skipped your way to the potty?
Anyway, we get the step stool, drop the drawrs, quickly undo the diaper and that's when it happened.
More than just a diaper fell to the tiled floor.
I shouted for Eric.
He too comes dashing down the hall.
"Help!" I said. "They're everywhere!"
"Wow!," he laughs. "It's like the Running of the Poopies!"