Oldest daughter informed me that little son was awake yesterday morning when she came downstairs. It was 6:50. Bummer. I was hoping he would stay asleep a while longer. Still, he did not materialize until after I had returned from taxiing oldest daughter to school. No doubt he was involved in an all-out Jedi battle on the plains of his bed.
Once the Jedis were sufficiently victorious, I could hear the thump, thump, thumping of a diapered bum sliding slowly down the carpeted stairs.
He joined middle daughter and me in the family room where he boldly and decidedly proclaimed, "I want to wear panties!"
Stunned and attempting to correct the terminology, I countered, "You mean you want to wear underwear?"
To which he replied, "NO! Not Underwear! I want to wear my Lightning McQueen panties- in my top drawer."
sidenote: for those who have not been with this blog since August, you will need to refer to this post to gain a little understanding on the connotation of the term "underwear" in our household. And only then will you understand why a male child might prefer panties over underwear.
We have not crossed the potty training bridge with little son yet. And now we have one foot over the bridge threshold. Ironically, I was just telling the husband the other night that I would like to have little son potty trained by Christmas. I brought this one upon myself. Those who know me even marginally well will testify that I live by the motto:
I positively DO NOT LOVE POTTY TRAINING. If there was a potty training service out there, it would be hired. I admit, I'm just plain lazy. You have to commit to potty training. When you potty train you become a slave to your house- unable to venture too far. You become a slave to your washing machine. And you become a slave to your carpet- scrubbing out all the tinkles. I am not ready to commit.
But now, like it or not, we are committed. There is no turning back. We are on the bridge. Crossing it. Little son did an awesome job. He told me every time he needed to piddle (that's what we call it at our house). And we only had a few accidents yesterday.
Now we just have to work on the terminology
And now I know that I can be grateful for listening to the spirit and not purchasing the big box of bulk diapers when I was at Sam's Club on Monday.
But I think I am going to miss the thump, thump, thumping of a diapered bum on the stairs.