As the wife was wandering around yesterday morning, trying to decide on the day's wardrobe, Owen ran up to her and cried out, "Mama needs pants!" This is the keen eye for detail that I was certain would one day result in my terrible embarrassment/loss of dignity. It took only a few hours or so for me to feel this cruel bite.
I took him to the library for some new books in the afternoon and he announced he needed to use the potty. Thankfully, he announced it this time. Last time at the library he let me know with a large wet spot on the front of his lil' trousers and I forgot the change of clothes in the car.
We entered the men's room and took the open stall next to an occupied one. After dropping trou, he peed in the potty, which is excellent. He also ripped a room echoer, announced that he was all done, and stated loudly that he pooped about 15 times.
The problem is that we have had some success with the potty training, throwing such wild and lavish parties upon a direct hit, that he is throwing his own mini-parties when he thinks he deserves it. "I pooped in my pants! Yay Owen!" No, not "Yay Owen."
Not only was it mortifying to have him yelling this in a public bathroom, but I also feel bad for the poor guy trying to relax in the adjacent stall. I think I've decided to never go out into public, at least not until he's 12.
CK
No comments:
Post a Comment