Punk has declared war on diapers.
She's 16 months old, so this isn't terribly convenient or expected.
You'll leave her alone for a minute, and she'll have her diaper off and out of the room/play pen/crib before you can say Jack Sprat. (Why would you want to say that?)
So we've begun to let her play with potty training.
I know she's too young, but her little Lily white butt can sit on her toilet and wait for nature to take its course if it keeps a pee soaked diaper form being thrown at my head. (If she was just hurling it at her dad, I wouldn't really care!)
She spends enough time in the bathroom with the boys--who pee frequently and often arm in arm over the commode. (It's really quite a picture to see two bare butts angled to the toilet, arms wrapped around each other as they drain their lizards.) So I figure she can join in the fun.
We have the plain potty seat, the musical potty seat that scared the poo right out of the boys, and the toilet potty seat, so the girl has choices for her throne.
As my daughter sits upon the loo, it is just another nail in the coffin of her babyhood.
And while I will be eternally glad to get rid of the diapers and their associated expense, I will miss my baby being a baby.
It's going by much too fast.
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