First off, can you believe this is my 300th post? I can't. But there it is. What HAVE I been rambling on about for so long? If you're still reading, thank you. If you're relatively new here, I appreciate the follow (and hopefully I've followed you too! Let me know if not). I recently went over 40,000 page views too, which is small potatoes in the blogging world, but I still never thought I'd hit that number, what with my humble beginnings of 12 page views a day. Anyway, here's to the next 300 posts!
As for the title of this post, I should probably explain that I'm not actually going to be doing the dirty work myself. Remember my plan to put off potty training in hopes that the nanny would do it for me? Well, my devious plot has worked! *rubs hands together and giggles maniacally* The other day, K announced that she thinks Jack needs to ditch the diapers. Frankly, I don't think Jack is there yet, but I also didn't think he could give up the pacifier until it happened. So if someone wants to take charge - especially someone who has successfully potty trained several children - who am I to argue?
Of course, I'm not entirely convinced this whole "let Jack run around without a diaper" thing is a great idea. See, today John and I came home from the gym to find Jack flopping around happily, as per usual. But as he breezed past on his way to who-knows-where, I caught a whiff of something foul. I didn't realize K had planned on started the potty training TODAY, so I patted his pajama-clad butt, expecting to find a load-bearing diaper. Instead, what I felt was Jack's bare bottom. I took a quick glance inside his drawers to assess the situation, and there it was. The shart*.
I'll leave it at that, folks, since John hates it when I blog about anything crass. (Of course, I dare anyone to blog about parenthood WITHOUT being crass.) Suffice it to say, I'm not entirely excited about this potty training thing.
But I suppose it has to happen eventually.
* According to Urban Dictionary, what happens when you trust a fart.