Put your hair back on. I'm not pregnant.
Everyone regained their breath? Good. Now. We have a new addition to our household. One about which Russ and I are very excited and hopeful. One which may change our lives for the better. His name?
I know, I know. She's pretty young to be starting such efforts. But she stays dry through naps, frequently announces when she's about to do the deed, and is very interested in when we use the big-person potty. So we figured what the hell. Diapers are expensive.
So, we brought Frog Potty home and had him sitting innocently in the living room, letting Vivi get used to him. She soon took to sitting on him fully clothed and reading books. All right. Then we moved up to her announcing she needed to go potty, disrobing from the bottom down, and then hopping on and off of the Frog Potty without results. Everyone I know tells me this is a step in the right direction, which is what I was keeping in mind as we scrubbed the resulting potty from the carpet, instead of the removable part of the Frog Potty (number one, thankfully, as I do not know that I am mentally equipped for a number two on my living room floor, on several levels).
Much to my amusement while I was making breakfast this morning, I heard from the living room, "Monkey. Big-guhl. Potty." I glanced around the corner to see Vivi assisting Monkey in daily bathroom detail.
Sure enough, she encouraged Monkey very kindly, telling her "Big guhl, Monkey. Vee Good. Potty." She then abandoned Monkey on the pot (perhaps the Big Job was pending? I don't know) and wandered off.
Poor Sock-Mankey. Well, I've always been told that boys are more difficult to toilet-train than girls.