When Ainsley decided a couple of months ago that she was ready for big girl panties, I was thrilled. No longer would I have to carry a huge purse with Pullups and wipes stashed inside, which always had to be removed in order to locate my wallet. (This is especially impressive when you are at the liquor store buying tequila.) And, even more important, my baby girl would be accomplishing this milestone 2 years sooner than her brother did, ending my 6 year butt-wiping gig. Well, not an end to it exactly, but at least a significant enough decrease that I could justify having my nails done professionally again.
I believed whole-heartedly that my brilliant daughter would master her newly acquired skill in about 7 days. M&Ms make anything possible, and when they don't do the trick for her, I get her share. At least then, I feel good. Potty training is taking a little longer than expected. For the first few weeks she made consistent progress. Lately, though, as she often seems to become trapped in her fantasy world, I am cleaning up more accidents (and eating more M&Ms) than I should be at this point.
Today was a doozy. I swear that kid pooped every time my back was turned for more than 3 seconds. Even Ian had an accident, which he left in the bathroom floor.
"Honey, did you make that mess in the bathroom?" I asked Ian.
"Um, yeah," he replied as he turned a page in his book. Did I mention he was naked from the waist down? Must be a guy thing.
"Well, then, you need to go clean it up."
"Actually, Mom. That's YOUR job," he defied.
Oh-no-you-di'n't! HE cleaned it up.
Ainsley's last accident, which occured 5 minutes later, really drained my sense of humor. In the bathroom, I had her stand on the toilet seat so I could carefully roll the poop out of her Dora the Explorer panties and into the toilet without getting it all over her.
Here is where George Carlin entered the plot. He has a bit in which he states that ONLY when you are using a disgusting public toilet, with all of its nasty germs just waiting to attack, will this happen: When the poop hits the water, it will splash icky water right up into your you-know-what the second that it remains open after the poop takes the plunge, then it will snap shut fast so the icky drop cannot escape.
Here is my version: I was holding Ainsley by the waist with my left arm, shaking the poop out of her underwear with my right hand, and my head was behind her behind, making sure everything went to its proper place. The poop hit the water and . . . that disgusting water droplet sailed through the air and hit me right in the eye!
"EW!!!!!!!" I said.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" my little darling asked.
"Well, the toilet water spashed in my eye."
"It's o.k., Mommy, I'll wipe it. That's MY job."
Tell, me please, if her brain can understand her brother's earlier comment and apply it appropriately to this very similar (albeit, notably more disgusting) situation, then WHY CAN'T SHE HIT THE TOILET ONCE IN A WHILE??
George, if you read this, please give me the good humor to survive potty training kids on the autism spectrum and the wisdom to know when it is time to say "Enough already, I'm heading to happy hour!"
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