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Why Silence from a Potty-Trainee is NEVER a good sign

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Reveries and Soliloquies: Why Silence from a Potty-Trainee is NEVER a good sign

Reveries and Soliloquies

Friday, April 24, 2009

Why Silence from a Potty-Trainee is NEVER a good sign

Today I offered my assistance with the ongoing Potty-Training Battle with my young cousin. Although motherhood may still be several years away for me, today I was granted insight unlike any other. WARNING: When you ask a three year old boy if he has to use the washroom and you are met by very suspicious silence, IT IS NOT A GOOD SIGN!!!

We had just returned from a shopping marathon and thankfully I had the foresight to put Luca in pull-ups in case he had to go to the washroom while we were on the bus. Because it was such a beautiful day, we decided to let him play on his tricycle in the backyard while we made coffee. I called through the patio doors, "Luca, do you have to go to the bathroom?"...Nothing. Again I called out to him...SILENCE. My heart pounding, I ran down the steps into the backyard searching frantically for the mischievous man in my life only to find him staring aghast at his tricycle. With woeful eyes he looked at me and uttered these dreaded words:

"Zia [Italian for Auntie], caca."

Now, call me dense, but I assumed that a bird or squirrel had left a surprise on the chair of his tricycle. Wishful thinking. As I approached with trepidation I began to notice a certain, uh, ODOUR. The fact that said "caca" on the chair looked fresh caused my suspicions to multiply.

"Luca, did you do poopies in your couche [diaper]?"

"Yes!" as he grins cheekily.

Uh oh. How did it get on the tricycle??? With mounting horror I whirl him around to inspect his tuckus and see...NOTHING. Heart pounding, I raise the back of his shirt and try to keep my gag reflexes from kicking in. I can now inform you that I know the definition of "Up-The-Back"; except, this incident was particularly special because by some miracle "up the back" turned into "In the Hair-Down the Arms-Over the Stomach."

Oh. My. Sweet. Beloved. HELP!!!! Not knowing where to grab him from, I hoisted him up by his armpits and made a run for it before the stench caught the wind and someone called sewage control. I called for reinforcements (aka my grandmother) and we stripped the now giggling three year old of all his clothes and scrubbed him down while the bath filled with water. Then, as only a child can induce, the laughter began. Luca, in his most grown-up voice, looked me in the eyes and said,

 "Oh my goodness."




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