i'm calling it--he's potty trained. we wear big boy underwear around these parts. and now i'm sure tomorrow he'll poop his pants and try to hide the evidence somewhere really exciting.
why didn't anyone tell me that having a freshly potty-trained child is a ton of work? i feel the same way i did when i started nursing for the first time--why didn't anyone warn me??
step one: remove every single piece of clothing before he's comfortable with mounting the throne.
step two: successful deposit.
step three: enter into hand-washing negotiations.
step four: wrestling match involving fox, mom and clothing items. match ends when fox is fully clothed or when mom gives up, because truthfully, he'll have to go to the bathroom again in another thirty minutes.
and public restrooms? the hypochonriacal loon in me hit the fan when he patty-caked the toilet seat at the container store. top of this year's thanksgiving gratitude list: purse-sized clorox wipes.
and for tonight's act, we'll be sleep training indiana (subtext: overcoming my inability to let her scream it out). finally. if we're ever going to entertain thoughts of weaning, she's gotta learn that i'm not a 24-hour service station. and i've gotta learn to not take lip from a 10-month old.
oh, and halloween. commercial shark costume brought to you by old navy (he's developed his own opinions and won't let me make his costumes anymore... it was a good two years) and li'l red indie hood (she's obviously anticipating the day when she can assert her own costume opinions). dumpy blackberry photo: