Years from now, when Georgia is a teen or ::gulp:: a young woman, I wonder if she'll decide to read this blog I have kept of her life. If she does, this will be one of the posts that makes her roll her eyes and give me that look (I know the look it will be because I'm well-versed on the look myself). Then she'll say, "really mom, really? That's disgusting, thanks!" Me, I will just laugh and then promise to give the link to this post to any boyfriend she has in the near future.
But until we get to those days, we have these days... which are currently filled with tiny panties splattered with hearts and rainbows and Dora scattered around the house, a pink plastic potty resting next to the ceramic version, constant reminders of "don't forget to tell mommy or daddy if you have to go potty" and the occasional yellow puddle on the floor. Yes, as of last Thursday, this house and all of its occupants are in potty training mode.
It took a day or two for Georgia to really get it, but now I think we're having more successes than misses, and we've almost filled up Georgia's potty sticker chart.
But - and here's the part where moms and dads will nod their heads in understanding, Georgia will one day scream "mom!" and everyone else will wrinkle their nose and say gross - up until today our potty successes have only been of the number one variety. That is, until today. Georgia pooped in the potty!! There, I said it, it's out there. Potty success!
I must admit, it is slightly odd that we parents beam with pride and do silly "potty dances" due to a lump of, well, you know, in the pink plastic potty. But hey, it's all relative... and we have one less diaper to pay for today.