Disclaimer: If you are already feeling a bit queasy, do not continue reading. If, generally speaking, you have a weak stomach, do not continue reading. If your sense of humor is limited to sit-coms, clever jokes, intelligent come-backs, or thoughtful commentary, do not continue reading. If you have never potty-trained a child, you may not want to continue reading. If you have potty-trained a child, but found the process serious, exhausting, and not-at-all-funny, you definitely want to stop reading immediately. If you are highly proper and polite, you may want to call it a day right here in paragraph one.
It has begun.
The sprinkling.
The tinkling.
The drops on the toilet seat.
The playing with different body parts to see what they're all about, how they function, and how fascinating and gleeful it is when stuff shoots or plops out of them--whoa!
It isn't full-fledged potty-training (yet). Tyler is still fully-dressed in diapers, and he deposits of his bodily liquids and solids into said diapers. But, we're starting to slowly encourage him to do his business on the porcelain (or plastic, maybe?) pot.
We weren't planning on starting just yet, but then Tyler picked out a book from our little Fulford Library here in York. The book's title? Tinkle, Tinkle, Little Tot.
And for the past two weeks straight, it has been his absolute, hands-down favorite book. We read it before every nap and nighttime sleep.
"Read potty book! Read potty book!" Tyler yells, his voice full of anticipatory joy.
The book, by Bruce Lansky (in case you want to get a copy yourself) is full of poems written to famous children's songs. For instance, there is "An Itsy-Bitsy Poo-Poo." There is also "The Tushy Pushy" (instead of "The Hokey Pokey").
One night this week, after eating tacos (no, it's not going there, don't worry), as we were all sitting around the dinner table, Tyler suddenly busted out with the lyrics for "An Itsy-Bitsy Poo-Poo."
All the words.
Jen and I eventually joined in, and we sang most of the tunes from the potty book.
An Itsy-Bitsy Poo-Poo
Was floating in the bowl.
I wiped my bum with paper,
And flushed it down the hole.
As we sat at the dinner table, singing ridiculous songs about a very normal and natural bodily function, I watched my wife and my son. Both smiled large, and both had that sparkle in their eyes that said: does it get any better than this?
Okay, okay, Tyler's sparkle wondered if it could get any better. Jen's sparkle may have actually said: Can you believe I am singing potty songs like this? Can I believe this?
Fast forward to this morning. After using the potty myself (without prepatory songs, though I may soon initiate those songs as a part of my routine), I walked downstairs to find Jen and Tyler cuddling on the couch, watching a little of Barney's trip to the zoo.
As I stood in the doorway, watching them lying together, cosy and warm while our 15th inch of snow laid itself lightly on the previous layer, I had to ask that question myself: Does it get any better than this?
If it does, I hope potty songs and cuddling are still, somehow, a part of it.
