Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Yeah, that's Jack on the potty. No, I am not trying to potty-train my 22 month-old. But dude. He wants to be potty trained. This morning, he went into the bathroom, threw the Diego potty seat on the big person toilet, took off his pants, ripped off his diaper, and asked for help climbing up.
Last week at Little Gym, he grabbed his crotch and threw himself against the bathroom door, so I took him in and helped him onto the potty. He peed. Then we went back out to the gym, and he did it again. We went back to the bathroom, and he peed again. 15 minutes later, he claimed he need to poop by screaming "POOOO! POOOOOO! POOOOOO!" and stuffing his hands down the back of his pants (nice), so we went back to the potty and he tried so hard. It cracked me up-- he had veins bulging out in his temples he tried so hard. No dice, but he did crap himself as soon as we got home and he ran to his favorite spot behind the kitchen curtains (again, nice), so I think he knows when he has to go.
The thing is, I like diapers way better for a kid his age. Public toilets are NASTY, and I am either going to have to hold Jack up in the air, so that he can pee without the edge of his penis (really? the edge? do penises have edges?) touching the rim of the toilet, or I am going to have to help him sit on the toilet, which means I will be squatting on a dirty bathroom floor and my coats and my scarves and possibly the knees of my pants will touch that bathroom floor, and then I will have to wash my clothes and take a Silkwood shower like 6 times a day. And I have really dry skin already.
But the kid. He wants to use the toilet, and I feel bad stifling that impulse. (Actually? I think he's doing it for the Diego pull-ups and the Batman underwear. He's such a joiner.)
Also, he's my baby, and if he can toilet himself, then I might have to admit that he is growing into a real boy.
He slept with us last night from 3:53 until my 5:18 alarm (at which time he and Ben continued to sleep, the assholes) because he had a bad dream. When I got him from his crib (which? Bullshit. It was clearly Ben's turn, but he refused, saying that since Jack was clearly saying "Mama! My Mama!" I should go in there so as not to disappoint), I asked if he was sick, and he said no. I asked if he was cold, and he said no. I asked what was wrong, and he stuck out his arms like he did around halloween when he'd do his monster impression, so I asked if it was a bad dream, and he said "Yessssh."
He sucks as a sleeping partner, but he is snuggly in a thrashy, screamy, head-butty kind of way. And he had really bad breath.
Harry found this blazer in the back of his closet and has been wearing it nonstop with jeans and ironic T-shirts-- JUST LIKE BEN, who almost always wears a jacket, a StudyBlue or an attitude T, and jeans. Harry has even insisted upon donning his target loafers, which look like Ben's Keens. Harry calls his $11.99 Cherokee shoes his "fancy shoes," which actually pisses me off because his normal everyday shoes are Uggs. But anyway, here he is modeling yesterday's ensemble (the jacket is a 3T, but really, it just looks trendy and shrunken, right? No. But I can't convince him it is too small. It's become his wearable lovey). His school friend Patrick called Harry's Batman shirt "old school" which cracked me up.
Jack has been doing this most mornings for about a year, and it's kind of annoying. Actually, it's really annoying, depending on how much coffee I have had. I'd like to graph the coffee/annoyance relationship, actually, because it's not straightforward. I mean, yes, no coffee, and I am annoyed. One or two cups, and I am not so annoyed. More than 2 cups and the coffee-jitters kick in, and I am IRRATIONALLY ANNOYED.
Harry totally lost his shit when I picked him up from school and his teacher said he couldn't take his Spanish paper doll home because they needed to use them in Spanish class next week. Then she felt bad because he was so upset, so she told him he could take it. Then, at his cubbyhole, he freaked out again because he was worried that if he took the doll home, it would get ruined (which? it totally would-- no question), so he left it at school (tearfully) after making me promise to make him a new one at home. Which I did. Badly.
Jack's hiding behind the crayon bag, in case you couldn't see him.
He needed a deformed paper doll to, until he had one. Then it became the most boring thing in the world.
Baking cookies because that's what we do when Jack naps.
This is also what we do-- eat bowls of snacks on the couch and try not sleep watching Scooby Do. Scooby Do, by the way, is the funnest show to watch with harry because he can never figure out who the bad guy is. Yesterday, I said, "Who do you think is in the sea monster costume?" and he looked at me like I was the stupidest person in the world. "Mama," he said slowly and patiently. "That's a monster. It's not a costume." At the end of the show, he turned to me, amazed. "It was Mrs. Baker! Not a monster at all!" He goes trough this process of scorn and discovery every single time. Love it!
I asked Jack to show me his teeth, thinking, you know, that he might smile.