My name’s Henry

It seems like the kids are always fighting.  When one of them has a toy, the other wants it.  If one is drinking from a water bottle, the other wants to drink from that bottle.  A different one is just not the same.

Sometimes though, the nature of their fights makes me want to roll around on the floor in fits of laughter.  I don’t, of course, since I don’t want to scar them for life.

Although the subject of the fights differ, they always start, proceed, and end the same way.  Daniel tells Hannah something completely untrue just to annoy her, or maybe he thinks it’s hilarious, I’m not sure.  Hannah gets all defensive and tells him no, whatever he said is wrong.  He says it again, she gets increasingly mad, he says it again, she gets madder, and so on and so on, until I can’t contain my laughter any longer and they both come to me to back up their cases.

Daniel’s favourite way to torment Hannah with un-truths is to tell her that his name is Gordon or Henry (from Thomas the Tank Engine).

For your entertainment, here is a video of one of these hilarious fights.

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Copyright 2013 Sheri Thomson

The silly mommy

It’s been ages since I’ve had to worry about teething.  I can’t even remember when Daniel cut his last tooth.  I should be able to look it up in his baby book, but I have yet to fill it out.  I know, that’s terrible, but with the second child, there’s just never time for fluffy things like baby books.  Not even his name or birth date graces the inside, it’s just an empty book.  He’s had all of his baby teeth, minus the two year old molars, for over a year.  I can’t even remember his particular reactions to teething.

Until now.  It’s two year old molar time.  Right now it’s 5:17am and he just started crying again (and now he’s sitting on the couch watching Thomas). When I was up last night with him, I had to administer a dose of Nurofen to take the pain away and allow him to sleep.  When I went in his room, he was standing in his cot screaming.

“What’s wrong buddy?” I asked him.

“I want to watch Hiro and naughty Spencer on the TV, Mommy,” he to told me with a pained look on his face.  That’s what he calls the Thomas movie, ‘Hiro of the Rails.’

“No, it’s the middle of the night Buddy, it’s time for sleep.  Lay down.”

He did, but soon started crying again, and gnawing on his finger.  I gave him some Nurofen and he went to sleep a little while later.

He woke up the night before last as well.

“MOMMY THE BOOGER IN MY NOSE, GET IT!” He kept yelling out whilst crying. But there was no booger.

As soon as I woke up from my heavy slumber, I had to pee.  Daniel was still yelling out about his non-existent booger as I groggily climbed out of bed and put my fluffy pink bathrobe on.  It’s winter over here, and darn cold in the middle of the night.  I didn’t bother with my glasses, it was dark anyway.

Walking with my right hand in front of me to feel for any deviations from my planned path to the bathroom, I set off.

As I pushed the bathroom door open with my pointer finger, I stepped forward into the bathroom.

BANG!

The bathroom door was shut.  I jammed my finger and walked nose first straight into the door.  Why I thought it was not actually clicked shut, I have no idea.  It was 3am, I was half asleep, it was dark, and I wasn’t wearing glasses or contacts.

I don’t know exactly what happened to my finger when it jammed, but it’s still really sore and if I use it, it hurts.

Oh well, at least I didn’t break my nose.  That would have been pretty bad considering I’m a bridesmaid in another country in less than a month.

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Copyright 2013 Sheri Thomson

Wipe

“Mommy, ______!” I heard Daniel calling from his bedroom during nap time.  I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but from the tone, I thought it might actually warrant checking on him.  He’d been in there for an hour, but judging from all the chatter, laughing, and toys banging, hadn’t slept a wink.

I paused the science-y youtube video I was watching whilst doing the dishes (because if you’re going to do the dishes, you might as well watch something on the ipad at the same time so it’s not so mindless and boring) and put my ear to his door.

“MOMMY I NEED A WIPE!!!!!!!!”  He yelled.

I couldn’t think of a single situation in which needing a wipe during nap time could possibly be a good thing.

As I opened the door, he held his hands out over the cot rail to show me, and then told me that he wasn’t wearing any pants.  Indeed, he wasn’t.  He was wearing a nappy though. At least that’s something, especially considering the smell that assaulted my nose as soon as I stepped into his room.

Here we go again.  This time, I immediately knew why he wanted a wipe.  I had no grand illusions about him getting into chocolate or Vegemite.  I knew those outstretched arms and parted fingers were indeed covered in poop.  Not from a leaky nappy, or a number three, but from my silly little boy shoving his hands down his nappy after doing a poop.  You’d think he would have learned his lesson last time, but no….

After disinfecting him, I went back to the scene of the crime to assess the damage.  There on the bed, sat his socks, covered in poop.  How exactly do socks bear the brunt of a poop incident?  The cot itself had a little bit of poop on the bars, clearly from him holding on as he called out to me.  The sheets had the tiniest bit of poop.  But the socks?  Covered in it.

I can only deduce that he thought socks bore a mighty resemblance to towels and used them in to clean his hands.  They would have already been off of his feet, he takes them off every singe nap time. Judging by the amount of poop on the socks, he did a pretty good job, but in the wiping process, smeared the little bit that remained on his hands all over them.

Seriously Daniel, please stop putting your hands down your pants!

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The creepy neighbor

“Hi.” The kids and I hear as we’re playing outside (Aaron is usually at work when we’re playing outside).

We all look up at the back fence where one of the neighbour girls is peeking over whilst standing on her trampoline. “Hi,” we say back.

“Mommy, can you hold me up to the fence?” Hannah asks me excitedly.  She loves talking to the neighbor girls, even though we can’t remember any of their names.  There are three of them, a 3 year old, a 4 year old, and a 7 year old.  Or something like that.

“Hi.” Hannah says as she grabs at the top of the fence, whilst sitting on my shoulder, even though she already said hi.

Their chat is inaudible to me since I pretty much have a butt in my ear as I hold Hannah up.  I’m not very tall you know, and neither is she, so holding her up high enough to see over the fence is not an easy task.

BANG!

Something crashed into the colourbond fence.

“It’s just my dog.” The neighbour girl tells us. “He likes to jump on the trampoline.”

I put Hannah back down and pushed her and Daniel on the swings.

“Maybe when your parents are friends with my parents, you can come over an play.” The girl told Hannah over the fence.

“Yeah!”  Hannah said excitedly.  Hannah often asks if she can play with the neighbour girls, but since I can’t remember their names, and I don’t know their parents, it would be kind of weird if I just invited them over through the fence.

“Maybe we could all go to the park together one day during the school holidays,” the girl told Hannah “then your parents can get to know my parents and we can play at each other’s houses.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” I told her, knowing how much Hannah wants to play with her. “Does your mum work?”

“No, she doesn’t work.” I’ve never seen her mum, or even faintly heard her from our side of the fence.  We met the dad when he and the kids and the dog knocked on our door to ask if they could take a panel off our fence to get their hot tub out.  We said yes by the way.  Oh, and we spoke to him another time when we first moved in and he asked us if we’d like a swingset, which he then passed to us over the fence.

“I don’t work either.  So maybe during the school holidays, we could all go to the park one afternoon after Daniel’s nap.”

“YEAH!” The girl said “should I go and ask my mum? I can ask her right now.”

“Ok, go and ask her.”

And that is the last time I saw the girl over the fence.

In hindsight, a 7 year old girl isn’t going to go inside and be like “hey Mum, I thought it would be nice if you and the neighbour were friends so that I can go over and play with the kids, so I suggested we all go to the park together in the holidays.  You, us, and the neighbours.”

It was probably more like “Hey Mum, the neighbour lady wants me to go to the park with her, can I go?” Which was probably followed by a horrified look from the mother, and a lecture about not talking to strangers, particularly me.

So I guess I’m the creepy neighbour. Sigh.

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Who’s your daddy

“Daniel is Leah’s daddy.”  Hannah informed me on our way home from Grandma’s house this morning.  For her birthday, YaYa got her a doll that talks when you push her tummy.  Hannah named her Leah.

Hannah and Leah

“Daniel can’t be the daddy, brothers and sisters can’t have babies together.” I told Hannah. “Daniel is the uncle.”

“Yeah, like uncle Jim! Ok, Daddy is the daddy.”

“Daddy can’t be the daddy either Sweetie, Daddies can’t have babies with their daughters.”

“Who is the daddy then?”  Hannah asked me.

Hmmm… I wasn’t sure how to answer that one.  On the one hand, she was talking about a pretend baby, so it didn’t really matter, but on the other hand, I didn’t want her to think it’s ok to have babies with family members.  But if I said Leah didn’t have a daddy, then Hannah probably would have been very confused and probably would have asked questions that I don’t know how to answer appropriately for a 3 4 year old.  Plus Hannah really wanted her baby to have a daddy.

“Who is her auntie?” Hannah asked instead. Phew, baby making questions averted.

“Well, you don’t have a sister, so Leah doesn’t really have an auntie.”

“But I really want her to have an auntie.”

“We can pretend one of your friends is her auntie.”

“Violet is her auntie!”  Hannah told me excitedly.  Violet is her best friend, and has been their whole lives.

“And I am her Grandma, and Daddy is her Grandpa.”

“Yeah! But she still needs a daddy,” Hannah said a little sadly.

“Nathaniel is her daddy!!  Yay, now Leah has all of her family.” Hannah announced proudly.

Nathaniel is Hannah’s friend from church.  He is the son of the children’s minister and his wife. So guess what Ed and Bec?  Your son is now a dad.  I hope he doesn’t freak out too much.

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“What’s that on my toe?”

The kids were playing very nicely by themselves in the living room. I decided to take the opportunity to do all the chopping, peeling, and other prep work for dinner.

Daniel was playing happily at the play kitchen. Opening the cupboard and pulling all of the dishes out, then closing it again. Over and over. He loves the play kitchen.

Hannah was dancing around and watching Peppa Pig. She loves dancing. And watching Peppa Pig.

I was peeling some sweet potato. Lost in my own thoughts. Probably fantasising about being on the Amazing Race Australia. Yes I’m obsessed. Whatever.

“Mommy, what’s that on my toe?” Hannah asked me, all concerned.

I looked over at her, expecting to see some toy or sticker adorning her toe(s). Maybe some food.

But it was brown.

Oh please no.

How could it be? She was wearing pants. And underwear.

Handcraft Toddler Girls Toddler Disney Princess 7 Pack Panty

I stepped over the baby-proof fence separating the kitchen and living room.

Daniel saw me coming and crawled towards me as I hopped the fence, giggling happily with every step.

I knelt down next to Hannah. I needed to get a good look. I needed to relieve my fears and confirm that the offending item was a piece of raisin. Or half-eaten cracker. Or even a half-chewed piece of brown paper.

But it wasn’t.

“DON’T MOVE HANNAH!” Ok, so I may have over-reacted just a little.

“DANIEL NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

He was still coming for us. Straight towards Hannah and her manky poo-covered toe.

Oh goodness, there’s poop on the floor too!

“HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!!”

I picked up Daniel and carried him to the other side of the room.

I picked up Hannah and carried her, as far out in front of me as I possibly could (I don’t want poo on me!), to the bathroom.

“STAY THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

Daniel was once again gleefully crawling towards the poo spots on the carpet at breakneck speed.

I picked him up and put him on the other side of the room again and quickly got the carpet cleaner and a rag out of the cupboard.

“MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!! MOMMY!!!!!!!” Hannah was screaming and crying in the bathroom. But she didn’t move.

“STAY THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

I held Daniel at bay with my foot while I scrubbed the carpet, sprayed some more, and scrubbed again. Daniel really wanted to get at that carpet and see what all the fuss was about. Cheeky monkey.

“MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I finished cleaning the carpet (I had to do that first so Daniel wasn’t out in the living room eating poop while I cleaned Hannah up. You know how it is…) and went to Hannah in the bathroom.

I took her pants off.

Oh *%$#.

It was everywhere.

I tried to get her underwear off without retching and/or getting poop all over myself and/or the bathroom.

It was all down her legs. All over her butt. All over her front.

I wiped her up as best as I could with wipes while Daniel banged on the bathroom door, crying and yelling “Momma! Momma!” over and over again.

“STAY RIGHT THERE HANNAH, DON’T MOVE!”

I had to leave the bathroom to put all the filthy wipes in the poop bucket (aka sealed bucket where I put the days dirty nappies), and the even more filthy underwear in the soaking bucket in the laundry room.

I held those soiled undies in front of me like they were on fire and headed toward the laundry room, leaving a still crying Hannah in the bathroom.

Daniel, joyful at the sight of my re-emergence, decided it was a good time to play walk-while-holding-on-to-mommy’s-leg. Which is basically exactly as it sounds, but with gigantic smiles and lots of giggles.

My pants nearly falling down, poo nearly falling out of the underpants, I took step after slow step, Daniel attached to my leg stepping his little legs as fast as he could to keep up, giggling all the while.

Hannah stood in the bathroom door, legs covered in poo, screaming as I walked away from her.

I somehow managed to get the undies to the laundry room without spilling and once again had to lock an un-amused Daniel out of the bathroom while I cleaned Hannah up in the bathtub.

Sigh.

I hate potty training.

A Potty for Me!: A Lift-the-Flap Instruction Manual

That was over a week ago. Before her third birthday. She has since pooped in the toilet. Please, oh please dear God, help her poop in the toilet again.

Yay! She pooped in the toilet again just now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

When I’m three (part 2)

As you’ll probably remember, Hannah is not so into pooping on the toilet/potty. But, she wears underwear and had absolutely no issues with doing all of her pooping in those. Sigh.

In the morning, she excitedly told me that she could open the door because she is a big girl now.

Sure enough, she toddled over to the bathroom door, fiddled with it for a bit and to my surprise, it opened (we have very high door handles, she can only just reach them. And only on her tippy toes). She was delighted. And I made a huge fuss.

“Good job Hannah! You’re such a big girl now!!”

She’s been telling me that she’d poop in the toilet on her birthday.

Related post: Poop in the shopping centre

Well, she turned three yesterday. She had a fantastic day. She helped me make waffles for breakfast (at her request).

We went to McDonald’s for lunch. Again, her request. Not the she ate anything. She did eat a few chips, but Daniel ate all of her nuggets. Yeah, my little chubba at 4.5 nuggets. He had a go at all 6, but he dropped some on the ground. She played on big slide thing there with YaYa and found rat poop all over the top of the slide. Awesome. Just what you want your kids playing in. YaYa told the manager who looked about 12 years old, but he just stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. Seriously, he didn’t say a word when she told him. Just that what-the-f$*#-do-you-want-me-to-do-about-it, why-don’t-you-clean-it-up-yourself stare. Great managing, McDonalds.

Mc Donald’s Play Hamburger Container

At least she drank her apple juice. She didn’t eat her nuggets or drink the babycino that YaYa bought her.

Nugget in one hand, chip in the other. That’s how he rolls.

Aaron got off work an hour early so that he would get home at 5:40 instead of 6:40. But then the trains were all delayed and he got home at 6. Stupid Cityrail….

Thomas the Train: TrackMaster Thomas Rides the Rails Starter Set

She opened a million presents (because Grandma got her way too many. As usual.) whilst wearing the blue party hat that she really, really wanted.

She is obsessed with Mickey Mouse, so The Jess and I made her a Mickey Mouse cake. Ok, Hannah and I baked it, The Jess decorated it. She’s all skilled like that. She told me she wanted a pink cake and a chocolate cake, so we made strawberry cake and mudcake and swirled them together. YUMMY!

Mickey Mouse Hoodie Hat

We (and by we, I mean me) put all of the used wrapping paper and paper from the presents, and paper bowls from the cake and ice cream (what, I didn’t want to wash up 7 bowls. I don’t even have 7 bowls!) in a garbage bag and put it in the kitchen. Which, I might add, is on the other side of the baby gate. The side Daniel is not allowed on.

I didn’t give Daniel any cake. He’s not even 1. He doesn’t need cake. Next thing I know, he’s sitting next to the fence with a paper bowl covering his whole face. He was slurping what was left of the ice cream out of that bowl and squealing in delight.

“Daniel, NO!” I told him. How he even managed to get the bowl, I’m not sure. Boy’s got skills when it comes to food. I took the bowl from him which prompted screams and revealed a nice layer of ice cream in his hair.

This is what happens when Aunty Jess is supposed to be watching him

It was a busy, fun day. But did she poop in the toilet or potty? No. She didn’t poop at all.

So never goes 2 days without pooping. So today was p-day. Poop on the potty day. She told me she would because she’s “a big girl now.”

We drove an hour to see some friends today. She didn’t poop. We came home. She didn’t poop. Had dinner. Still no poop. Had a bath. I got them ready for bed.

“Did you poop?” I asked Daniel. It smelled like his brand. A quick sniff of his clothed butt (sometimes as a mom, I kinda feel like a dog) ruled him out.

Crap.

“Hannah, did you poop?”

“No.” She told me in that weird I-really-did-but-don’t-want-you-to-know-I-did voice.

And then I jumped out the window.

Ok, not really. But that’s what I felt like doing.

Instead I lost my marbles and told her she has to wear a nappy until learns how to poop on the toilet. She screamed and cried and kicked, but she’s wearing a nappy.

Sigh.

One day, she will poop on the toilet. One day.

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

A story about stretch marks

I was really lucky, I didn’t really get stretch marks when I was pregnant. Well, I got some on my butt, but I’m pretty sure they are gone now. Maybe. I can’t see them, so they don’t really bother me. I have one little tiny stretch mark on my stomach, just under my belly button from the rambunctious, posterior Daniel.

People generally don’t like stretch marks. They don’t want them. They hate them when they have them. At least that’s what I though. Until I read this story (by Amy Neff, writer of The Neff Family Blog):

Age: 28
~Number of pregnancies and births: 2
~The age of your children, or how far postpartum you are: Baby #1: 2 years. Baby #2: 6 months

Here I am. Almost six months after the birth of my second daughter. Complete with stretch marks, sagging skin, extra weight, and everything just…misplaced, for lack of a better word.

I had two babies in less than two years, my second being rather large. To say I got stretch marks is an understatement. I have been drenched in stretch marks! I remember when I was pregnant with my first daughter and the stretch marks starting popping up and the weight piled on. As ashamed as I almost am to admit this, I was sad and upset. I remember crying as I was trying on maternity clothes, thinking about how my body would never be the same. By the end of the pregnancy my entire abdomen, hips and thighs were covered in stretch marks despite every effort by me, covering myself in every cream and body lotion I could find. Nothing worked. I was just predisposed to get these things. By the time my second daughter came along the stretch marks had faded. But she, being her strong-willed and determined self, added her own marks. While my first daughter decorated my stomach (now nicknamed her “old apartment” by my husband) with mostly vertical stripes, my second was much more creative. She added horizontal lines, squiggly lines, and extended the vertical ones even higher. She was much larger than my first daughter, so the saggy skin was greatly intensified. I would look in the mirror at my post baby body and cringe. I would think, how on Earth could my husband EVER find this attractive?!! But, oddly enough, he somehow does.

Something happened recently that has entirely changed my outlook on my body, my flaws, and my “ruined” abdomen. This story is very sad, but I wanted to share it because it was been so inspirational to me.

On Christmas Eve, 2010 my twin sister found out that she was pregnant. I remember her calling me just minutes after the two lines appeared on the pregnancy test. She was excited, and scared, and a little in shock, as most newly pregnant women are. Her pregnancy progressed well. Everything was fine and uneventful. I remember the day that she got her first stretch mark. She called to tell me about it, and she was EXCITED! She was actually HAPPY about it! She said that that stretch mark showed that her baby was growing. That was the most important thing to her. She was not upset in the least. She was thrilled that her pregnancy was progressing, and that her baby was getting bigger. She had been having premonitions that something wasn’t quite right, and that her baby wasn’t big enough. Everyone, her doctors included, assured her that everything was fine. To her, that stretch mark was just more reassurance that her baby was, in fact, growing.

Tragically and suddenly, at almost 37 weeks pregnant, my sister lost her baby. The details are incredibly sad, so I won’t share them all. She had to deliver her baby and say goodbye. It was, without a doubt, one of hardest things I can ever imagine someone having to go through. After she had been released from the hospital and was sent home, she was telling me how her abdomen had shrunk down so much. How strange that felt…that her pregnant belly was gone, and she was left feeling completely empty. She said that she still had just that one stretch mark. I asked her if it was hard for her to have to see it. She said no. She said that her one stretch mark would always be proof that her baby existed. Those words stuck with me, and will stay with me forever.

Now I look at my stretch marks and saggy, floppy skin quite a bit differently. I was BLESSED with the opportunity to carry my babies full term. I had healthy, full term pregnancies, and I was rewarded with two big babies. Sadly, so many women aren’t this fortunate, which I’ve now seen firsthand. I’ve realized that the sacrifice of my more youthful and skinnier body has been more than worth it.

My sister’s pregnancy was the only time she was given with her baby. I know that she will remember and truly cherish the memories of every kick, every hiccup, every elbow jab. Now I feel that because I was lucky enough to bring my babies home, feed my babies, cuddle with my babies, and raise my babies, the last thing I should do is complain about my less than perfect mid-section.

When I look in the mirror now, do I think my body is pretty, or attractive? No, definitely not. But this body has been through a lot in the past two and half years. Two births in 23 months, a combined weight gain of over 70 lbs, 18+ months of breastfeeding. It takes its toll, and I am grateful for all of it. I’m PROUD of what my body has done and, most importantly, what it has given me. My pregnancies were, by far, the most exciting times of my life. I often miss the moments of pure excitement and anticipation. I miss rubbing my pregnant belly, and bonding with my baby before she was even born. Both pregnancies were such specials times that I will always look back on with so much fondness.

My little niece, who I was never lucky enough to meet, and my incredibly amazing sister have taught me so much and inspired so many, and I wanted to share this story with you. These stretch marks are here to stay, and that’s fine with me.

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

A real baby

Hannah came out of her room pushing her pink toy pram.

“There’s a real baby in here Mommy. She was born.” Hannah told me.

I stifled my giggles. As usual.

“She’s a little bit sick. I need to go for a walk and take her to the doctor.”

Hannah turned the pram around and went back in her room. Patting her “real” baby and consoling her as she went.

A little bit later, she told me that her baby needed a nappy change. She got out the portable change pad and laid “real” baby on top of it. She got out some rags and wrapped them on her baby like a nappy.

Buy cheap diapers

Daniel crawled over to see what was going on.

“NO DANIEL! That is my baby’s poopy nappy! Don’t crawl on that, you’ll get all poopy!”

Giggle giggle.

“Don’t cry baby. Do you want something to eat?” Hannah asked her sweetly as she carried her baby back into her bedroom.

A bit later, she came back out again. Putting her finger to her lips, and giving me quite a serious look, she said “SSSHHHHH, baby is sleeping!” and then went back into her room. “I have to go and pat her.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

When I’m three

I’ve told you about trying to potty train Hannah before. I’m so over it. It’s been months. Actually, I first tried to potty train her a year ago. A YEAR! Granted I wasn’t trying that whole time (because of this, but still….

The whole thing is just driving me nuts. She pees on the potty, but refuses to poop on it. She’s been pee potty trained for months. But she’s only pooped on the toilet or potty a handful of times. I know she knows how. I know she knows when she needs to.

The Potty Book – For Girls

Once Hannah was in the bathtub and she told me she had to poop. I put her on the toilet and she did a giant poo. She knew that if she pooped in the bath she’d have to get out, the bath would need to be cleaned, she’d have to stand there like a drowned rat for a bit, and then she’d have to get back in. So she told me she had to poop. See, I knew she knew….

Now she wears her big girl underpants because a) she wants to, and that must be a step in the right direction. Right? b) if I put her in a pull up, she’ll get lazy and just pee in it because she knows she can, and c) it’s cheaper than her being in nappies or pull-ups all the time.

The perils of potty training

But as I said, she pees in the potty, and poops in…her underpants. Sigh. Sometimes the poop is a little bit squidgy. Depends on what she eats I suppose. Have you ever tried to get a little-bit-squidgy poop out of underpants? It’s hard. And disgusting. And messy. Ick.

Fruit of the Loom Girls 2-6x Toddler 6 Pack Wardrobe Brief

The whole thing is just driving me crazy! I’m so sick of cleaning up crap. Well, her crap. Daniel’s is ok, he’s too young to think about potty training. She’s nearly three. THREE! It’s so embarrassing changing her poopy pull-ups (Ok, fine, she wears pull-ups when we’re out. Imagine having to deal with the poo underpants in public) in the parents room at the shopping centre. She lays there, speaking full, proper sentences, while I wipe her butt.

I imagine everyone in the room is staring at me, wondering why my child, who is so clearly too old to not be potty trained, is laying there in soiled pull-ups. Seriously, so embarrassing.

I asked her why she won’t poop on the toilet. And you know what she said?

“I’m still a little girl Mommy. When I’m three, I’ll be a big girl and I will poop in the toilet. I will poop in the toilet for my birthday.”

Sigh.

At least it’s only one month until her birthday. One month exactly. And knowing my stubborn, strong-willed daughter, she will do just that. She will poop on the toilet the day she turns three. At least I hope so. If not, I think I might pull my hair out.

If you enjoyed reading this, please vote for my blog. All you have to do is click the link below. That’s it… And if you are an email subscriber, clicks from your email don’t count.  If you would like to vote, please go to my blog and vote from there. THANKS!

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson