Poopy potty.

That’s what we call it.  We visit the poopy potty multiple times a day.  We haven’t gone warm turkey just yet on the diapers but maybe we’re getting there.  Julianna is definitely at the stage where she doesn’t like being in a dirty diaper.

Accuracy.  That is what we’re dealing with now.  She tells us quite a bit that she wants to go sit on the poopy potty.  49 out of 50 times, its nothing.  I don’t believe she has figured out the difference between a cramp perhaps, or a minor urge, and the immediate need to sit and relieve.  That being said, we don’t want to miss the opportunity.  A few months ago, she actually managed to go in the potty.  We think that might have just been a fluke since it hasn’t really happened since.

Part of me (a good part) thinks she is using the potty as an excuse to stall.  She seems to always want to sit on the poopy potty right before bed, but not until after we are in our pajamas and about to get into the crib.  But what do you do?  What if the visitor is actually ready to arrive?  We don’t want to miss it…

We spent a good chunk of the afternoon out yesterday at my sister’s house.  Julianna was regularly asking to go to the potty.  We obliged, a few times.  Once, I just put her on the toilet, with the lid down and her pants on.  That satisfied her.  So, we continue the journey…

…until we got home.  I suppose we can try one more time.  Picture it, she’s sitting on the poopy potty.  I’m sitting in front of her with a book…and then…she freezes.  Activity in the bowl!  In retrospect, the following played out in an oddly similar way to when both of my girls were born:  She was clutching the side of the potty seat and barely breathing.  At this point I instructed her in a positive voice that it was a good idea to breath.  I followed up by demonstrating.  She actually did the breathing exercise with me.  She was in the zone.  I haven’t figured out exactly why the next thing happened but it took everything in me not to laugh.  Not finished yet and not making any noise, she threw both her hands straight up into the air as if to signal, “TOUCHDOWN!”

She finished up, still doing her breathing exercise, snapped out of her trance, and immediately wanted to get off the poopy potty and see her work.

“Daddy, can I pick out my own underwear?”

Holy.  Literally.