Metal Meredith

It has been 11 days since my last entry

I am going to do these updates in tiny entries instead of tossing a massive pile of crap at you all at once. I fear that the people that care will do ok, but the others will fall off their chairs dead asleep from sheer and utter boredom.

Vivienne has been practicing mastering the art of the potty, as mentioned in my previous post. She now can do a good 5 hour span with ‘big girl underpants’ on, often using the potty all by herself. This creates a few scenerios that have been amusing in part and terrifying in others.

First problem: Vivienne is sitting on the coffee table playing with her Dora Treehouse (remind me to thank you later, Ronni) for the fourteen hundreth time today and she tells me “Oops, I peed”. I ask “Is it a little or a lot?” “A lot” she replies. I tell her to stay put, don’t move and I will bring a towel. I grab a hand towel and come around the corner to see her drawing in her pee with two fingers. “WE DON’T PLAY IN OUR PEE,” I said through clenched but happy teeth. She pulls her fingers up and says, “Oh, ok”. Like that was all it took.

Second problem: Vivienne calls me into the bathroom to tell me that she has peed. “Mommy, I got drippies on my legs!” So I dutifully go in to help with the back end chore. I give her a wad of toilet tissue that she uses to wipe up “drippies” and her girl part. Then, like in slow motion, she tells me, “Oops, my nose is running!” and proceeds to pull tissue from crotch up belly, up chin and wipe right up her face. I could feel myself in a comedy sketch doing the slow motion “Noooooooooooooo!”, but I never made it. It was more like *inhale* “NNnn” and it was over. So we had a talk about how tissues that touch nether regions never come back above the belly button.

Third and final problem: Vivienne is still having the poop problems. We are ecstatic when she finally does anything, making sure she knows we are proud of her, blah blah blah. While cleaning her butt after one such praise session, I left a wipe on her bed. She grabs it and proceeds to wipe her own bottom, “I help!” she proclaims and then takes wipe and runs it all over her face. “I clean my face, too!” We have the talk one more time and she gets a good, long, very soapy, face washing.

I don’t have any real reasons to complain. These are by far tame by my friends’ experiences, which will most likely horrrify my childless friends on the edge of considering children to run the other way as fast as they can. For once, I am wholeheartedly considering them the sane ones.