Okay, this is the post that when Edgar reads it years from now he will look at me, wince, and scribble furiously into the notebook that will house the temperamental musings for his memoirs. But, really, this tale must be told.
Edgar has taken his time in his approach to potty-training. He does wonderfully well with what we’ll euphemistically call “number one” when we anticipate his needing to go. But “number two”? Well, that’s another story.
As he is now four and certainly physically capable of mastery of this feat, Don and I decided to step it up a bit–allowing him to continue on in his training pants but simulating every other aspect of what needs to happen in the bathroom. So, after he’s gone, we head to the bathroom. Edgar remains standing. We remove the training pants, flush the contents in the toilet, then continue on with the requisite tasks.
It was then that we realized the depths of Edgar’s feelings for his poop.
Perhaps in the way an artist treasures his/her creation, Edgar has a deep affinity for what he has produced. And we know this because as Edgar flushes the toilet he says, without fail, “Goodbye, poop. I love you! Have a nice trip to the sewer!”
And, yes, Edgar, I know this post will mortify you (and possibly our more polite and gentle readers), but it is a story that must be recorded for the ages. There will come a day–and it will be soon–that this whole potty-training adventure will be a memory, and this is one memory worth preserving!