Feeling her oats

Let me begin with the bright side: I have a great story for M-'s prom date.

I do forewarn you, this story is not for those who enjoy a nice warm cappuccino or bowl of applesauce as a mid-morning treat.

This morning, M- developed a pretty bad case of diarrhea. After hearing the horrible, though familiar, herald of a long day of diaper cream and Pedialyte and looking down to see her squatting on the kitchen floor, I decided to grab hold of the silver lining and hang on for dear life. I pointed out to her that she just (picture a really gentle, happy, and encouraging voice, smiling to mask the pain in my nose) "made poop in [her] diaper!"

For those of you without children, this helps build her awareness of her bodily functions and prepare her for the upcoming process of learning to leave Daddy alone and take care of such things all by herself.

Being the fast learner that she is (see this post on her vocabulary), I think she's already got it down pat. For diapers 3 through 5, she paused in her wanderings about the house, tooted her own horn, and said very happily, "Poot. Poot!!" Then she laughed a lot.

This is probably partially due to her consistent pleasure at knowing things and communicating them, but I think it's mostly due to her genes gently informing her that bodily functions are as hilarious as they are useful. I wish I could argue with her, as much as I wish the torture would end.