Taking Pride in One's Poopies

Having the experience of two other children behind us, I'm not naive enough to think Brigid's success on the potty last night is the beginning of the end of diapers for us, but it's something to crow about nonetheless. After she covered herself in mashed potatoes (first) and then ice cream sandwich (second) at dinner last night, I gingerly picked her out of her high chair and lugged her upstairs for a bath. After successfully ridding her of the sludge that had covered her almost head to toe, she played happily for a while in the bathtub, and then she started doing kind of a dance with a worried look on her face. I asked if she needed to go potty and she repeated "Potty" a few times. I called for Patricia to bring her potty upstairs, which Patricia did quickly, and I pulled Brigid out of the water. She sat down without complaint and when I covered her with a towel to keep her warm, she didn't complain about that, either, which is saying something. After a few minutes, during which she babbled away very cheerfullly, she stopped talking, looked very serious and announced, "Potty." She then proceeded to do her business. It took a few minutes, and when she was done the reason was obvious. She had quite a lot of work to do. She was very proud of herself and we made sure to make quite a fuss over her job well done. She then happily ran around upstairs naked and unashamed while I said bye bye to her poopies.

It may not amount to much, but the idea is there and she understood something was going on that is different from going in her diaper. That's all you can ask for at 18 months.

Last night was also the girls' first night for jazz class. They enjoyed it a great deal. Tonight is tap class, and Friday is my first jazz class. Here we go again.