Monday, February 18, 2008
All Hail Charlie, the K.O.P.!
That stands for the King of Poop, just so you know.
Saydi suddenly insisted that I start blogging, and I think the timing is no coincidence. We potty trained Charlie (24 months), but only for Numero Uno. We had been promising lollipops, candy, cake, ice cream, anything he could cram past his sticky little lips if only he would go poop in the toilet. But no dice. He started judiciously holding out until his naptime, when we swap out his Lightning McQueen underpants for Pampers.
But all that changed last night.
Charlie had been asking to go to bed for almost two hours (a sure sign of impending poop), but Saydi (highly intuitive mother that she is) refused. By the time he was ready to do his normal pre-bedtime pee-pee, Mother Nature had him between a rock and a hard place (or perhaps a highly motivated mother and a large piece of porcelain, to be more precise).
Because I was downstairs cleaning up, the first news I heard was Hazel, who was promised her own sugary cornucopia when Charlie finally pooped like a big boy, yelling about suckers and candy. Not wanting to waste any time in reinforcing this most positive of behaviors, I ran and got a lollipop as fast as I could, and got it into Charlie's hands PDQ. And then the Wild Rumpus started...
We whisked the kids downstairs to the kitchen, Charlie still in underpants, to have ice cream. Saydi made him his own little tinfoil crown, while I dished out (what else!) chocolate ice cream to commemorate the Grand Defecatory Event.
And this is where things got slightly strange...
Saydi wanted to memorialize the celebration by taking a few pictures (normal) of Charlie's butt (less normal, but it's a cute butt). Then Hazel wanted a piece of the action. Soon Hazel and Charlie are striking strange poses that can only be described as vaguely Polynesian, or perhaps reminiscent of the Village People.
So here's to you, Charlie, and your new-found powers over excretion. May they serve you well.
Live long and prosper, little man.