A Toilet Tale

If someone asked me if Coever was potty-trained, I'd say "Yes."  It wouldn't be an emphatic "yes" with a fist pump or some praise dancing, but it would be an affirmative answer.  It wasn't that she was tough to potty train, it was just that potty training is a tough business and I am glad to see her get the hang of it.  For the most part.

Sometimes, Coever still needs some ass-istance when it comes to cleaning herself off after a trip to the bathroom.  I'm sure there are some grown adults with that same problem -- think of anyone you know whose nickname is "Skids".  In order to avoid literally leaving her mark in her pants, Coever will ask for help.  Let us rejoice in the little things.

The other day, she stood up in the middle of the Barbie/My Little Pony/Lego flotsam of the living room and said, "I haveta go potty!!" and bee-lined it to the toilet. After a while, when she still hadn't come out, I called in to see if she was alright.

"Ugh! Yuh. . .yuh. . .yeaaahhhhhssssss", she strained out.

Oh boy.

A few more minutes went by. Again, I called out to see what the status was.

"Mommmmmm-eeeeee!" she bellowed.  "I need you to wiiiiiiiiiipe meeeeeeee."

Mmmmkay. . .

I go into the bathroom and really and truly, I thought I had entered the Molly Pitcher toilets off Exit 8.  Good gracious, that child has a healthy digestive system.

"Geez, Coever!" I said, as I took care of her buns,  "That is some kind of poop!"

"I know," she replies, not missing a beat. "I worked really hard on it."