"Uh, you need to come out here," the husband said just as I finished drying my hair.
We were in the middle of the morning rush, the last half-hour before everyone has to be out the door, preferably dressed and with lunch. I was irritated the husband needed me. I already had gotten The Boy's lunch; the husband could handle clothes, at least. My attitude changed as I walked into the living room.
"We have poo in the potty," the husband said. "Well, more ON than in, but -"
"But it's ON THE POTTY! WHAT A BIG BOY!"
The Boy took a few minutes to finish up, insisting I sit next to him. Nothing more materialized, but we celebrated nonetheless. We called Grammy. We did a little sitting down shimmy. We grinned and praised and italicized every sentence we said to him. Then, the husband used at least a dozen wipes to clean up The Boy. (Incidentally, does anyone else have a husband who refuses to wipe more than once with a single wipe?)
We're fairly certain this whole thing was a fluke. Usually when The Boy says he wants to pee, we strip him down, sit him on the potty and nothing happens. This particular morning, The Boy said, "I pee! I pee!" and the poo fairly flew out of the diaper when the husband removed it. Timing is everything, you know. Still, I'm considering it a hopeful sign for a diaper-free future.
In other news, The Boy is flourishing at the new daycare. I don't know whether it's more activities or more kids or the Chatty Cathy teacher who talks as much as The Boy does, but something is just the perfect fit for my kiddo. He practically ran into school this morning, pulling the exact opposite maneuver as the first day when I had to drag him into the one-year-old room, and everyday at pick-up he's grinning and eager to tell us what he did.
"I color. I swing. I play trucks."
I always say everything happens for a reason.