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P with a capital P

Never in my life have I been so obsessed with a person's urine.

I must have uttered the questions, "Henry, do you have to pee?" and "Are you sure you don't have to pee? Really?" about 1,707 times over the weekend.

The kid will be 3 in November. I know I'm making too big a deal about wanting him potty trained before his third birthday. But I just want it done. I know as soon as he gives up diapers for good, I'll be all wistful and wishing he wasn't growing up so fast. Until then, my "gotta pee? gotta pee?" mantra is growing old much more rapidly than he's catching the knack of making tinkletinkle in the toilet.

He's starting to learn, asking for PullUps instead of a diaper. The past three days, he's had success. Each time, he gets a sticker, a stamp and a handful of chocolate chips (and bribing him with food surely will come back to haunt us...we're pleading ignorance for now). He also gets our high-fives and pats on his back and dancing in the hallway. In one of his potty books, they call it "having a grand parade."

Speaking of parades...we're going to have to get a pooper scooper to follow along after H. Because we haven't even begun to tackle that bit of business.

One bodily function at a time...

Comments

Brianne said…
Have you sang "you gotta fight... for your right... to poooooootty!" yet? :) Okay, I've heard this done and seen it in comics, and apparently it works: throwing a handful of Cheerios or Froot Loops (something round with a hole in the middle) in the toilet and then having him aim for the hole. :)
It's worth a shot.
6:43 AM
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