Will this harmonica end up in a toilet or my pants? I’ll never tell.
I called on my way home from work after the first day of Owen’s blitzkrieg potty training to ask what was for dinner and got something like, “Whatever you fucking bring home or can find, ok?” from my sweet, patient bride. Apparently, it was a more challenging than average day.
After the second day, I talked to the little guy about his progress. He’d skipped his nap and was hardly coherent, but he did give a little bit of insight into where to deposit his waste:
Today was day 3, and while he’s learned pretty well to pee in the little plastic thing that looks like either a green frog or a red miniature toilet, he has yet to shit anywhere but his underpants. We’ve decided this is “close enough” and are going to send him to his big sister’s Montessori school Monday regardless.
Incidentally, we have a pool party Saturday, so what better practice ground is there for controlled defecation than someone ELSE’S swimming pool? Encourage the torpedoes! Or something.