Sunday, June 13, 2010
I am the mother to a loving, beautiful, energetic, playful, independent, and precocious two and a half year old. Bug has a vast vocabulary, can count past twenty and is now learning to count in Spanish (from where, I don't know, but I suspect Dora), shares with her one year old brother, kisses me all the time, loves to be creative in her crafts and play. The list goes on and on.
I know. You're thinking, 'Dirty Mommy, you have a perfect child'. Of course I do. She is perfect for me in every way. However, I do have one complaint. 'A complaint? With such a perfect child?'
Hard as it is to imagine that my daughter, the perfect non-tantrum throwing, eats all her vegetables, always shares, and never fails to hold my hand while crossing the street (aw hell, let's throw in she is a culinary genius and has been fast tracked to the third grade without even spending a day in school) little girl, has one area that creates some concern for me.
The potty. I have come to the conclusion that I will have to quit my job, shut down my business and become a full time homeschooler because Bug will still be in diapers at 7. And last I checked, that doesn't get you a seat in primary school.
That is not to say that the potty's in my house are not used. The potty upstairs is often used by my one year old son to disassemble and reassemble, because that is apparently more fun than the 800 toys he has to play with. But the potty downstairs is my Bug's favorite. She loves that potty. Although these potty's are identical, she prefers the downstairs potty. Maybe it's because that potty has never actually been used for what it was designed.
So, I ask you, in the same fashion as Capital One, what's in your potty?