My Baby

My Baby has started using the potty.  When she wakes up in the morning and after naptime she even says "Pa-pa?" which turns me into an entirely different human being.  No, really.  I shriek "Potty!?  Yes!  Hurry!  Go! Go!"  They are no complete sentences involved in my attempt to rush her to the potty.  : )

The other day our potty experience went something like this:  I had her naked on the potty, I heard a tinkle sound, stopped reading Duck Goes Potty (which I rented from the library and LOVE!), stood up and rejoiced over her yellow puddle in the potty.  We clapped, we danced, we rejoiced.  "Sesame, we have to go put a new diaper on now, so stand right there while Momma moves..."

Just as I said this a warm, tingling sensation crept over my foot.
It was wet.
I looked down, and to my utter horror, realized I was being peed upon.
By my daughter.
Who had just peed in the potty.

 "AH!"  I shouted, "Sit!  Potty!  Hurry!  Go! Go!  Stop!  Potty!"  She sat, she peed, we rejoiced.  "Now, Sesame, we're going to read this book, and try and potty more."  I thought I was so smart.  We waited, no more pee.  We flushed the potty and regrouped to head upstairs.  I realized I left my coffee on the floor in the bathroom, so I turned, grabbed the cup and heard a wee vocie squeak out, "Oh No."

I rounded the corner to see Sesame peeing on the carpet.

"STOP!  SIT! POTTY! NOW!  RUN!"

And run she did.

She was like Forrest Gump.  'Run Sesame, Run!' and I was Jenny, cheering her on in some gibberish Mom tone.  But while she ran, she also peed.  I praised the Lord we had a can of Spot Shot.  She made it to the potty, peed two dribbles, proudly proclaimed "All Done!" opened the cabinet under the sink, pulled out a diaper and said "Diaper, Momma."