You've Got To Fight...For The Right...To Potty!

If you've read this blog for any period of time, you know how precocious Rachel is. Verbally she's far above where she should be and she has proven to be a fast learner.

There has been one exception, however. She has lagged behind in potty training. It appears we have finally turned the corner, but it hasn't been easy.

For one thing, she's quite particular. She doesn't want the pullups with one princess on it; she demands the one with three "Cinderellas." I'm not sure what difference it makes, to be honest with you. Her old diapers had Pooh on them, but we decided that was redundant.

At any rate, it will be nice to have all of this...uh...behind us soon. Soon we'll look back at the time she walked through the house carrying a soiled pullup and laugh. Okay, maybe not in that case, but most of the others will still evoke a smile. Okay, maybe not the other night when she followed me after I went to the bathroom at Outback Steakhouse. Rebecca says I missed her following me, wailing as she walked through the restaurant, "I NEED TO POOPIE!" It's not what you want to hear while chowing down your shrimp on the barbie.

It's taken a while to make sure she looks out for number one (and two.) Our training adds a new meaning to child rearing when you think about it. We also bought Rachel a Potty Power DVD. "I did it myself. I'm a big girl now. I can do it myself. I have Potty Power!" Auuughhh! Get out of my head, cursed song!

Still, Rachel resisted.

She always had an excuse. With the honesty most children exhibit, Rachel explained why she went in her pullups instead of the potty. "I'm lazy." Well, there is something to which one should aspire. That excuse earned an unwanted nap. The times, they are a changing, daughter of mine.

I decided to take on a strategy of reading to her or singing to her to distract her from the task at hand. Or is that the task at butt? At any rate, the strategy seemed to work. She'd exclaim proudly, "I pooptied!" I'm still not sure where the extra t came from, but it's adorable. Every once in a while, she'd gaze between her legs and say, "It's a poopie party!"

The other day, we were in the bathroom at Roaster's Restaurant. I asked Rachel what she wanted me to sing. She asked for a German song Du Du Liegst Mir In Herzen . I figured she needed theme music, since the song started with Du Du. Then we rolled through our medley. Doe a deer, Sidewalks of New York.... But I wondered what the man who came in to use the urinal thought when he heard me singing I've Been Working on the Railroad in the stall. I noticed he bailed right around Dinah Won't You Blow. I couldn't blame him. I would have as well.

At any rate, I think that soon, Rachel will be able to wear little girl panties. It's yet another rite of passage. Our little girl, who was so fragile when she took her first breaths three and a half years ago, is growing up. I think I may shed a tear or two. Hey, it's her potty! I can cry if I want to!

We Have Liftoff!

One of the great joys of my life is watching Rachel learn new things. She has proved to be a quick study.

But I had to laugh today as I accompanied her to a restaurant bathroom so she could use the toilet. It was one of the models that flushes automatically as soon as it senses less pressure on the seat.

When it flushed, Rachel was still on it. The look of abject terror in her eyes is something I won't soon forget. She took off like a rocket!

What A Card!

There are certain telltale signs that your 3-year-old daughter has watched your wife play too many games of solitaire on the computer.

This afternoon, we were at JoAnn's, waiting to frame a beautiful photograph that had been sent to me from overseas. The woman in front of us was taking an excruciatingly long time deciding what matte and frame to use. To prevent Rachel from running all over the store, I let her walk up to the top step of the tall metal stairway that is used to pluck items from the tallest shelves.

"This is my castle!" she proclaimed.

I bowed at the waist to her. "I salute you, Queen Rachel!" I replied.

She admonished me. "I am not the Queen; I am the King!"

I saw an opportunity to teach. "Rachel, girls are queens; boys are kings."

"I am a girl King!" she replied, before adding, "You can be my Jack."