Pee-Pee Parables

Under the category of "things you never imagined you'd have to apologize for in public," let me file the following:

I'm sorry that my son took off his pants in your restaurant/museum/home/establishment.

Under the category of "things I should've seen coming," let me file this little tidbit of mommy wisdom: men's fascination with their God-given plaything starts early.

And under the category of "I'm tired of chasing my child around in order to change his diaper and/or put on pants," I'd like to add this hopeful prediction: I think we are within 3 months of being fully potty-trained and diaper free.

The last few days have seen pee-pee in a starring role. I'm referring, of course, to both the anatomical pee-pee (what we call it in our household) and the pee-pee that goes in the potty. (Sorry for the PG-13 post here, folks, but those of you with young children should be pretty comfortable with potty conversations, as in my group of mommy friends it's right up there with 'things my husband does that drive me crazy' and 'how on earth can we get them to eat vegetables?!)

At a birthday party yesterday morning, Reni managed to do his usual Houdini trick and disappear on me. I finally saw his toes poking out from under the tablecloth of the present table, and there he was, sans-pants and sans-diaper, big smiles and holding himself proudly. "Look mama, my pee-pee!" he announced. I heard several stifled giggles, and tried not to think about how ridiculous I must've looked, half-wedged under the table. "Reni, we must wear our pants and our pull-ups in public," I told him, struggling to keep a straight face. He of course tried to run away, and luckily I caught him before he bolted out of the private party room and into the main play area of the children's museum where the public was enjoying a nice G-rated family Saturday. We put on a new pull-up and his pants, as privately as we could, and then he told me that he wanted to use the potty. After I set him up on the potty, and assured him for the hundredth time that he would not fall in, he strained, passed gas, and smiled. "I go poopie!" he said, proudly. "Now it's time to flush!"

He has since tooted on the potty on four additional occasions, with nothing but air. I don't have the heart to break his confidence, so I told him he was doing great and that if he actually put any pee-pee or poo-poo into the potty that he would get M&Ms. He is constantly asking for M&Ms and sneaking them into the grocery cart, so I figured that would be a nice bribe. He's also obsessed with his Cars and Diego pull-ups, and he insists on wearing 'big boy underpants' OVER the pull-up. Looks a bit uncomfortable to me, but he absolutely INSISTS and is so darn proud of himself that it's inconceivable to break that mojo. He struts around the house in his pull-up and underwear, shouting, "Look! Big boy Superman underpants!" or "Look! My Dusty underpants!" (from the Disney movie "Planes.")

The reason I'm hopeful that a potty-trained boy is in the semi-near future? I've noticed that he takes off his pull-up immediately after peeing in it. And he does try to make it to the bathroom. Occasionally, he makes it on time. We just have to work on our aim. Take this afternoon, for instance: he had disappeared for awhile, and we found him standing up on the master bathroom countertop, peeing into the sink. "I go pee-pee!" he announced. "I go up the steps, one, two, three!" (He had pulled out the drawers and climbed up them to make it to the countertop). His eyes were bright and he held out his arms for me to pick him up. "Can I wear the big boy Batman underpants, mama?" Yes, buddy, yes you can. We are a few super heroes short of potty training in this household, and I couldn't be more proud. Less embarrassed, maybe, but not more proud of you, buddy.