So, apparently, while I was away on my glorious weekend adventure, Bean and DH had a great deal of fun wielding hammers, hauling measuring tapes, and in general, doing boy things. DH reports that at one point he was doing something in another room and he heard the back screen door open and shortly there after Bean yelled, "Daddy I pooped on da step!" As proud as could be. And indeed. He had.
About a week ago, when the weather had just turned from miserable to tolerable, Bean and I were outside cavorting about in the meadow. Since we’ve been potty training, and since he had not gone in over an hour, I decided it was time to show him one of the most fabulous things about being a BOY. That he’s entirely equipped to drop trou and pee anywhere he so should choose. Without the mess of squatting, and quite possibly peeing on one’s shoes, which, being a girl who has climbed my share of mountains, and hiked my share of back woods trails, and taken endless road trips where there are no bathrooms between point X and point Y and the distance between the two is at least two hundred miles, I know all about.
The sheer glee of that yellow arc.
He was hooked.
He started making a getaway to the back door whenever the urge to pee struck. “Mama, I peed on the step!†he’d yell, until I explained that I’d prefer if he’d pee, NOT ON THE STEP, and that any old bush or grass patch is far more acceptable.
But the poop thing. Totally unprecedented. And miracle of miracles: he didn’t step in it.
Are all little boys this enamored with this going outdoors business?