In which I speak of Poo.

Yesterday I went and got a little potty seat and a pack of the tiniest little Buzz Lightyear undies for my son. Because he's growing up. *sniff sniff* That means it's time to start tackling the toilet issue. It's still early, but I thought it would be good to have the things around so he can get used to them for awhile.

Yesterday, I took off his diaper so he could try on a little pair of undies while he was watching a movie. He was stoked on them for awhile but kept pulling his little wee-wee out of the top of them and then was repeatedly snapping the elastic waistband onto it. "Ummm... Ezra, that can't feel very good... why don't we leave little wee-meister in there, Okay?"

After that, he started trying to take the undies off all together, so I headed towards his room to grab a diaper to put on him instead. I got distracted in the office, and about two minutes later, Ezra came running back into the office and he was pointing out to the living room like he wanted to show me something. I immediatley realized I'd never put a diaper back on him, and I saw that the tip of his sock was wet.

"Oops. Must've peed on the floor.", I thought to myself as he led me back to the living room.

Instead he pulled me over by the table and showed me the little present he'd left me there.

A little poo.

He was gasping and pointing and rather exasperated over the fact that this alien object had come OUT OF HIM and he kept looking at me as if he were seeking the meaning of life from the depths of my eyes.

I showed him where a poo is supposed to go and let him flush it down the toilet. He thought this was all so wonderful and exciting, so the rest of the day he kept running back into the bathroom to check if the poo had come back yet. No such luck.

This could get interesting...