This afternoon, when both kids were down for their naps, Jerry and I crawled into bed to take our own nap. I was exhausted and, within minutes, was almost fully asleep. But, then I heard Norah's bedroom door open and I could hear her softly padding across our bedroom floor to my side of the bed.
I opened my eyes, and she was standing directly in front of me, her index finger inches from my face; on the end, there was something I couldn't decipher, both because it was too close to my eyes to focus clearly and because my near-nap brain wasn't fully functioning. Dear god, I moaned inwardly, please don't let that be what I think it is.
"I pooped in my underwear," she announced.
Yup, it was exactly what I had suspected.
Let's just fast forward here and say that I threw some underwear away. It may sound wasteful to do so, but there are some messes that aren't worth the dry heaving, and a shitty pair of Ariel and Flounder panties are among them.
Besides, she won't even know they're missing: This girl has about 30+ pairs of panties, and about 10 of those feature Ariel. I think she's good.
But to get to my point: this potty training business is a be-atch.
Just when we think she's on the verge of "getting" it, I get a poop finger in the face.
Anyhooooooo, today was day #22 of my running streak: Guess it's habit now, right? Maybe if I can make daily running a habit, there's hope that Norah will eventually make potty training a habit. Right?!