In our house at this time, this is what it means to be on the potty.
So like I said the suggestion came across my desk to let her run around nudie booty for a couple of days and "poof" she'd be potty trained. Let me qualify that I am not really a fan of the "let nature handle it" methods. Mostly because nature doesn't come over and scrub poop out of the carpet. I have raised enough puppies to know two important things about potty training: it never takes just two days and just because someone says it should work, doesn't mean it will.
I was seriously considering buying bulk remainder newspapers. I ruled it out when I figured my little girl is more adept at relocating papers than a 6 week old puppy. I bit the bullet just to see if this "miracle" technique would work. If it did I had plans to sign up Billy Mayes and hock it on QVC . . . what's that you say? He is? I am sorry to hear that.
I stripped her down to nothingness and let her go about her business. She learned one important lesson. She likes being "free". I decided to unload the dishwasher while she discovered the world in it's new definition. Xyla is very introspective when it comes to discovery so I don't usually worry if it is quiet in the other room. She comes and checks in on me now and then and we're both cool. Somewhere around half way through unloading the first rack, Xyla comes trucking around the corner with her cute little doe eyes all big. She looks at me and starts chattering like a woodland creature. In her world she in communicating clearly and effectively. I mostly depend on her inflection to understand. All I was picking up was that something was really important ou . . out . . . there . . . in the . . . hey, do I smell poop? (I have become sort of an expert on sussing out the source of a particular smell.)
She turned a little and I didn't see anything but I was sure this was more than gas. I started to lift her by her arms and there it was. She felt it dump down her leg and took a step back wards. Then, realizing she was standing in something unfamiliar took a step to the side and put the other foot in the middle of this new "texture". Of course she had to come tell me the situation was anything but normal.
Have I ever told you my reasons for deciding not to be a nurse? Besides being incredibly uncomfortable with the frailty of old people, the prospect of experiencing the nudity of others even in a non-sexual way and being too immature to accept that people pass away as a natural part of the living process, ther eis also the fact that I have never (and my sister will confirm this) been able to handle the things that secrete, ooze, flow or project from the human body.
This is the moment my sister would have paid to see. I was going to have to face the big dark green monster that was mushed into . . . I was really hoping just the linoleum, but as I turned the corner I could see her tiny path as she made her maiden news announcement.
I will admit I kind of panicked a little. Not, surprisingly, about having to clean it up but about which I should tackle first: the floor or the kid. This was my exact thought process. Try to read it as fast as you can:
Where's my resolve, ugh it's in between her toes, I knew this was going to happen, I can handle it, it's for the greater good, this won't be the last time either, ugh I can't hold her against me it's all down her leg, I'll wear puke but I refuse to wear poop if I can avoid it and I can, if I could just, wait she's naked I can put her in the tub, what did I do with the scrub brush, I used it to clean up the dog's messes but . . . I might have thrown it out when we moved, stupid superstition, don't bring old dirt to the new house, but I guess if you have to have one, oh man where is it, I smell it but I don't see . . . oh, Lord is next to the couch, three steps to the right and it would be on linoleum, that'd be easy to clean, don't even think about the newspapers, she isn't a dog, she's a toddler, there's the wipes, will that work, o man I'm gonna need two hands for that, just put her in the tub, where'd it go again, don't step in it, ta-da, now I am going to have to scrub under Dora, I hate cleaning the tub, but my baby is worth it, why is she smiling at me, this is fresh poop why isn't it coming off, I didn't grab a diaper, should I put a new one one her or not, what would brandy do, she'd keep pushing through but honestly I don't want to do this again today, diaper it is, now where's that scrub brush . . . ?
Stay tuned for Part 3. Yes there is more . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment