Bricks and Bums

I HAD to record this experience. My extra stubborn 3.5 year old male offspring, fondly called Big Gunns, is still not fully potty trained. In fact, if life were left up to him in all of his toddler mental capacities, everyone would run around naked, pee outside in the yard, and wear occasional light-up snow boots as an accessory.

Over this Christmas break we have been setting the kitchen timer to go off every 45 minutes and allowing him to go with no skivvies...just a pair of shorts. We figure hey, maybe he just needs a little more freedom of movement in order to recognize his body's signals, right? So he's been doing stellar! Except today...two small accidents, and then...

"Mommy! I. went. poopoo." Picture a toddler in swishy warm up pants (underpants-less!) lifting his leg as he comes around the corner of the arm of the sofa just in time to drop a literal, perfect rectangle of a brick from his pant leg onto the floor.

Oh heck...seriously?! I switched on my go-go gadget arms, somehow reached lengthwise across the coffee table and grabbed a few kleenexes, while simultaneously holding him rock solid. Then in one swift movement swooped him and the brick up (luckily I didn't get confused and switch hands) and ran to the bathroom.

A quick hose-down in the shower, clothes into the washer, and we're good to go. He apologized profusely. I melted.