Siena's Number Two

I know that it's been a long time since my last post. But when you read today's slice of life, you'll wish the wait had been a little longer.

Our long national nightmare is almost over: Siena is 50% potty-trained. Thanks to the brutal peer-pressure of USC's preschool program, Our Little Genius has come to appreciate the sublime joys of recreating without fecal matter in your undergarments. She hasn't yet come around on Pee-Pee, as we so maturely call it, because let's face it, being able to go on the go pretty darn sweet. But she's pooping exclusively in the toilet, Allah Be Praised.

I swore I'd never write about Siena's toilet training. After all, one of you's bound to show the kid this blog on her thirteenth birthday or some other milestone occasion, and who needs to remember this particular chapter of their lives? But as I've done so many times before, I'm going to break this oath because I might make someone laugh

We first attempted to train Siena through rational discussion and moral suasion. But with Baby Irish on the kid's a deaf-mute, so we quickly descended to bribery. Ironically enough, the bargain was only two M&Ms for a successfully deposited bowel movement; Pee-Pee was never mentioned. Ever the shrewd bargainer, though, Siena quickly changed that to "Pee-Pee, I get one Emnem; Poo-Poo, I get two Emnmns!" And yes, Siena uses semi-colons.

We also would watch Siena for telltale signs of trouble brewing, and rush her off to the bathroom (always Daddy's bathroom, never Mommy's) for the obligatory shouting/wrestling match and thirty seconds on the bowl. In time she got the hang of it, and could give us something on demand. But the unfortunate side effect was that Siena developed the notion that one's trips to the bathroom were community events. She has no idea that it's at all inappropriate for her to sit in on our contemplative moments, since we do it to her. This history made for the incident that will make your slogging through this entry all worth while.

So we're at Legoland in San Diego; Mommy had to drag me, but I was a good sport. Anyway, we're at lunch, and Siena announces that she has to go Poo-Poo. For the second time. She didn't go the first time, but we're too eager for her to get this right to worry about false alarms. But Mommy went with her the first time, and goes with her most times anyway, so she insisted that Daddy show some responsibility.

Daddy, however, had his own very important reasons for going to the bathroom, and definitely did not want Siena along. It's not just because Daddy's Poo-Poo is the world's leading contributor to ozone depletion. It's because bringing Siena while I went--and there was no question of holding it--would mean that Daddy would have to drop trou in the presence of his little girl. This is a line that I have not hitherto crossed. Even wehn Siena was a baby, I'd get changed in another room, anything to avoid undressing when she was around. Call me compulsive, but I figure that at some point in a girl's life she should not see her father in a state of undress, and I did not want to discover that point the hard way.

But now all that was about to go out the window, just so Mommy could enjoy her caesar salad in peace. So we get into the stall and Siena, being a girl, doesn't know that There is No Talking in The Men's Room. In fact, in parts of Alabama they'll tie you to the back of a pickup truck and drag you across the county line if you spout off in the latrine. But my little angel's excitedly commenting on how cool it is that we're going potty. Great; now all I need is an overzealous security guard to overhear us.

So we get in the stall--the double-wide hadnicapped stall, thank God--and I double over, unzip, and squat, all while covering myself in a manner acceptable for prime-time television. Siena can't see a thing. Unless she tries to see. Which see does, 'cause that's what we do, right? We check to make sure that she's done something, so why shouldn't she reciprocate?

Then, the following conversation ensues.

"You doing Pee-Pee?"
"Yes, I'm doing Pee-Pee. Stand over there."
"You doing Poo-Poo?"
"Oh yeah, I'm doing Poo-Poo."
"Mommy give you two emnems?"

Maybe you're laughing. Maybe you're creeped out. But Man, did I need to right this. I feel like I've purged something that'd been trying to leave me for weeks. I deserve a couple emnems.