You know what’s great about having a kid who’s potty-trained? HAVING A KID WHO’S POTTY-TRAINED. See also: never having to wipe someone else’s poopy butt, saving a billion diaper dollars every month, the enormous relief of knowing your kid won’t go to college in Huggies. Ah, yes. This must be what victory tastes like.
So… yeah. That’s pretty much what’s been going on around here. The bathroom repairs were finished up yesterday, so now we have nice shiny linoleum in there. It’s a great improvement over the dank, dingy, smelly, ancient brown carpet that some brain trust thought belonged in the wettest room of the apartment. Connor is enamored of the new floor and spending lots of time in the bathroom; normally I’d tell him that the bathroom is not his personal play room and he needs to get out, but hey! He’s peeing in there, in the toilet, by himself, with frequency! And I do not have to witness or clean up after any part of the process!
It’s amazing what a step-stool and some superhero underpants will do for a kid. All of a sudden he is a big boy in big boy clothes, all self-sufficient and capable of monitoring his own elimination. No more baby, no more toddler, no more poochy diaper-butt in his stylish jeans. I get pangs, sometimes, little stabs to the heart that say, Where is my baby? Of course I do. On the other hand, I get bigger pangs that say, I just heard the toilet flush, and that’s one more poop I don’t have to smell. Parenting: it’s a balancing act on a rollercoaster of weird.