There are very few perils a parent faces that strike fear in their hearts like trying to potty train a child. Boo, my three year old son, is causing my husband and I to tremble at the knees and beg for mercy. I would promise him anything--candy, money, women-- in order to have him miraculously able to control his bladder and bowels.
He doesn't do bribery, by the way. I tried. Even Pamela Anderson wouldn't sway him.
So I answer not only my own calls of nature, but his, which he announces at the top of his lungs, any time, any place, in front of everyone.
In the store. "Mommy, I have to Pooooopeeeeee!" (You'll notice the phonetic exaggeration placed on Poopee. Every syllable must be drawn out.)
At home. "Mommy, I Pooooopeeeeed!"
"Mommy, Bubby Poooopeeeeed!" (He has to share.)
And my personal favorite. "Look, Mommy. One poopee. Two pooppee. Three poopee. Plop!"
And if I don't move fast enough, the inevitable, "Look, Mommy!" And when I do look, I see a child with his had in the toilet and I cringe, knowing what has just occurred and what the result will be for me.
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