You know how television commercials always show parents waking up by slowly stretching out their arms and luxuriantly getting out of bed while the warm bask of the morning sun envelops them? As they put on their imported Turkish bathrobes and enter their enormous kitchens, they're greeted by the aromatic pleasures of freshly-brewed coffee and some buttery croissants. In the background, you can frequently hear the dulcet sounds of a cooing baby.
Needless to say, BossLady and I don't wake up like that.
These days, we've been waking up to the sounds of a two-year-old girl screaming at the top of her lungs, "Mommy! Daddy! Come 'ere! Come 'ere NOW!"
And the aromatic smell with which we're awakened? Lately, it's the pleasurable aroma of a pile of steaming hot dog shit.
Yeah...just like on TV, man.
I don't know what's gotten into MetroDog lately. Maybe he's getting older. Maybe he's dealing with some personal issues. However, for some reason, he just can't seem to make it through the night anymore. He's only five years old so it's hard to imagine he's getting incontinent. In dog years, he and I are about the same age. Shit, if I can make it through the night, why can't he?
When we first got MetroDog, we had a tough time housebreaking him. It's not like we had a backyard where he could roam around. Learning how to poop on a New York City curb is fucking tough. Cars, fire engines, and dump trucks are rumbling by and dozens of people are watching your every move. For a few months, BossLady and I would take MetroDog out every morning and would end up walking around for hours before he finally pooped.
Finally, a dog trainer suggested that whenever we walked outside the building, we should just insert a paper matchstick up his butt (the dog's butt, not the trainer's.) The act of anally pushing out the match would force the poop out of MetroDog and train him to go in the same location every day.
Man, have you ever tried to stick a match up a dog's butt? It is not fucking easy. The first few times we tried it, the fire kept going out before he would poop.
(Chill out, PETA people. That was a joke!)
Actually, that little Dog Whisperer trick totally ended up working. And to this day, whenever I'm feeling a little constipated, BossLady will just hold up a match stick and start laughing. Yep, works for humans too!
When it comes to the Peanut, BossLady and I are taking a fairly low-key approach to toilet training. Basically, that means we're leaving it up to Sesame Street (as usual.) Between "Elmo's Potty Time" DVD and the "Ernie's Too Big for Diapers" book, we figure we're covered.
The Peanut's only two so we don't want to start pressuring her. However, our low-key approach seems to be having an effect and it appears we're getting her closer to being potty trained. Or at least potty-aware. Just last week, we were chilling out and eating dim sum in Chinatown with a bunch of friends when the Peanut ran up to me, pointed at her butt, and yelled, "POOP, Daddy, POOP! Let's go!"
Unfortunately, her yelling "POOP" didn't mean she was READY to poop but rather that she already HAD pooped. But that's cool. Baby steps, man. Baby steps. That's what I keep telling myself.
One inadvertent and highly entertaining repercussion of toilet training the Peanut is that she is now completely obsessed with
watching both BossLady and I go to the bathroom. It's not like we encourage it but, any time that one of
us enters the bathroom, the Peanut is right there with us. Most
of the time, she just likes to watch us do our business. However,
sometimes if we're sitting on the toilet, she likes to lift one of our cheeks out of the way or spread our legs open so she can peer into
the toilet bowl and get a better view. Not really my cup of tea but what can you do? Kids are natural scientists in certain ways.
You should see how unbelievably happy she becomes whenever she sees a piece of crap in there. It's like Christmas and her birthday wrapped up in one. Her face lights up and she actually squeals with sheer delight. Sometimes if nothing comes out, I almost feel like I'm letting her down. How crazy is that?
But hey---if it makes my lovely daughter happy, I'll push a little harder in the hope that I can at least squeeze out a little turd. We'll do anything for our kids, right?
Anyway I recently decided that, in the grand scheme of toilet training, I'm going to defer all future lessons to the BossLady and start closing the door when I go to the bathroom. I think, in this instance, Daddy's involvement is only confusing the issue.
Why do I say this?
Because yesterday I asked the Peanut if she had to go to the potty. She enthusiastically said, "Yes, Daddy. I go pee-pee!" Bridling with excitement, we both ran to the bathroom, where the Peanut immediately pulled down her pants and tried to pee...standing up!
You know...just when I think I have this parenting thing down pat, something comes up and bites me in the ass. But really, isn't that half the fun of it all?
Apparently, someone decided that it’s National Delurking Week. In other words, if you read any blogs regularly but don’t comment on them, now's the time to come out of the woods and say hello. So to all you lurkers, feel free to make your presence known and let me know you're out there.
Normally I'm not a big fan of this group-think blog mentality but I figure as long as nobody uses the word "blogosphere," we're cool.