Rocco is doing great with wearing underwear—he only has the rare potty accident, like this morning when he climbed on top of Kevin and peed all over him—but he hasn’t mastered the poop yet. At least once a day we’ll see him walking around in his undies with what looks like a tail tucked inside. (The tail, as you might have guessed, is a neat little ball of human feces.)
Yesterday I went for a walk and sent Kevin to the store to buy some HOLY CHEESESTEAKS WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY IN A MONTH necessities. He came back with that…and also this:
Kevin told Rocco that all he has to do is poop on the toilet once—ONCE—and he can get this big, huge, obnoxious, gigantic train set. It will go so nicely with our four other big, huge, obnoxious, gigantic train sets.
This comes two weeks after Christmas, after having filled up our biggest-size recycling can three times with toy boxes and toy packaging. After a Christmas where our two kids got more presents collectively than me and my four siblings ever got at any one Christmas—from the looks of our house, even more presents than we got at all Christmases ever.
This comes after spending a week finding old toys and books to give to Goodwill so we have room for the new toys. The house is still stuffed to the max with junk that barely gets played with, and plus we have to make more room for all the gear that comes with having a baby—bassinet, swing, toys, baby bathtub, play mat, high chair, etc. etc.
So. I told myself maybe, maybe I would forgive my husband if his plan worked—if Rocco magically started pooping on the toilet and we all lived happily ever after the end.
Rocco walked all over the house yesterday morning, hysterical because he wanted to go poop but didn’t have any poop to do, and then at 1PM he went to the bathroom and squeezed this out.
If one little chocolate chip of a poop earns one living room-sized train set, I don’t know what Kevin’s going to get him for his first full-blown toilet poop.
Probably all of Disneyland.