Last night, IT happened.
The IT we have been waiting for.
Ben pooped IN the potty. (insert big sigh of relief here)
That's right, IN the potty. Not on the potty, near the potty, in the same room as the potty, or while touching the potty with his foot. No poop in his hair, or on the couch, or smeared on the carpet. It was where it belongs. Finally. Do you know how long I have wanted a child to poop without me having to clean up a giant, poopy mess? Ahhhhhh, pure bliss.
(Please hold while I enjoy my moment. Do you see the beam of light shining directly from heaven, illuminating my pure joy? Do you hear the angel choir? Take it in....)
So what does a naturally over-enthusiastic parent do when a success like this happens? Well, if it were me, (do you like how I pretended, even for a moment, that I wasn't talking about myself? Oh, that wasn't as funny as I thought? Whoops.) I would immediately set down the baby I was feeding and run into the bathroom to throw a party. We screamed. We yelled. We celebrated. We broke out in the happy dance. I wiped him up, scooped him up, and had a little parade through the living room while carrying him and singing the "Ben went poopy on the potty!" song, complete with conga line.
Appropriate, don'tca think?
Do you notice anything strange about the situation I just laid down for you? I sure didn't at the time, I was too busy celebrating Ben and making him feel great about his huge accomplishment.
Then I heard Grant's voice. "Mommy! Baby Drew's in the bathroom!"
Oh, crap. Literally.
I ran and found Drew playing with the stool. And by stool, I mean the thing the kids step up on, not stool like, well, nevermind.
(Sigh of relief)
In my haste to celebrate the accomplishment, I had not emptied the potty. Wow, that was a close one.
I grabbed Drew and sat down to give him his bottle. We cuddled for a moment until I realized that he smelled strongly of poop.
The close one wasn't as close as I thought. Rather, it was a direct hit.
Mr. Baby Drew had been playing in the poop prior to spreading it all over the stool. It was on his hands, his jammies, and smeared on his cheek. I cleaned him up, changed his jammies and Marty made a new, poop-free bottle.
So much for keeping the poop contained and not cleaning it up all the time. Thanks, angel choir, for my moment of joy. Next time, I'll try not to cut you off early.
I smelled poop for a while afterwards, till I found a smear on my t-shirt and favorite hoodie. Great.
Yesterday was a great potty training day for Ben. And a big ole' failure day for Mommy. Luckily, they will only remember the happy dances and conga lines, and not the poop smears and possible e-coli contamination. I'll have enough memories of those things for all six of us.