Potty Schmotty

My mom was holding Eirinn when she (Eirinn, not my mom) said “Poop.”  We asked her if she had to go poop and she said yes.  We asked her if she wanted to go poop on the potty and she said yes.  We took her to the potty and got her prepared.  Screaming and flailing and all kinds of toddler chaos ensued.

Silly Bugba and I mistakenly thought that when she said that, yes, she would like to go poop on the potty, she meant that she’d like to sit on the potty and poop.  In fact, what she meant was that she would like to go into the washroom and, while there, perhaps we could get her an ice cream cone or a monkey or maybe Diego will be in there waiting to take her on one of his ‘aventuras’ to save Linda the Llama from a puma or anything other than pooping on the potty.  Oh, gawd, don’t make her go poop on the potty. 

We gave up and let her investigate a hair brush for a little while.  And by investigate I mostly mean chew on the handle.

“Uh…gramma?  Bare.  Butt.”

I guess when you’re saving a llama or eating a ‘keen cone’, you should always wear a diaper and pants.  Because someone might think you want to use a potty or something.  And that?  That would be bad.


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Tornado Eirinn

The life and times, trials and tribulations, crimes and punishments, lessons learned and scores settled by my daughter, Eirinn, AKA The Tornado.

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October 2007
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