So, we've been gently prompting our 2 y/o to start potty training. She's definitely advanced enough to figure it out, but we're letting her take it at her own pace. (Meanwhile the $80 a month in diapers is KILLING us, and in a few short months, add another diaper monster to the mix.) We've got her a potty, (the BabyBjorn one--it's much better you see, it looks like the real thing.) We allow her to play with it, as recommended. And she absolutely adores it. She loves to sit on it...
...fully clothed. Other than that, she'll have nothing to do with it. Until this morning.
She comes to me in the middle of Curious George with the most desperate and pleading look in her eyes.
"Poopoo in the potty?"
"Yes booger, we go poopoo in the potty."
"POOPOO in the POTTY!?!"
"Do you need your diaper changed?" Quick check shows we're all clear.
"POOPOO IN THE POTTY!!!!!"
So I scoop her up and we go charging for the potty. Except it's in the master bathroom--where there is actually floor space enough for it--and my wife is asleep, recovering from the latest round of working nights.
Luckily I only scrape the skin off the top of my right foot vaulting over the baby gate in the hall--bones still intact. We go crashing through the bedroom door and into the pitch dark beyond, promptly getting entangled in the floor fan--going full blast for white noise--but who needs kneecaps anyway.
Now the dog is barking frantically because he can't get past the baby gate to protect us from the floor fan and my wife sits straight up in bed freaking out. She's completely convinced the Boogeyman has finally come to have his way with her. Meanwhile I'm trying to muscle open the pocket doors to the bathroom which have recently (the last year and half) started sticking (note to self, must fix doors!) I finally get the doors open and strip down 2 y/o's pants...
...to discover she's now filled her diaper. And in our hasty exodus, I've apparently applied a good deal of pressure to her backside, because it is now oozing out of the diaper and onto my arm. (Laundry list: my shirt--poop, her pants--poop.)
Back over the baby gate and step on the dog in the process--nasty nip on my ankle for the trouble, (Laundry list: my shirt--poop, her pants--poop, my pants--blood.) We make it to the safety of the changing pad where she's now twisting and writhing in her attempt to help by reaching the wipes for me. (Laundry list: my shirt--poop, her pants--poop, my pants--blood, changing pad cover--poop.) I finally managed to get everything cleaned up, and a fresh diaper and clothes on 2 y/o.
"Poop in the potty," she says with a knowing smile.
(Laundry list: my shirt--poop, her pants--poop, my pants--blood, changing pad cover--poop, my bruised daddy-ego--indignity.)
Anyone know a good stain remover for indignity soaked daddy ego?
Who in their right mind would do this?
2 weeks ago