Potty training


Isn’t potty training fun? Dom likes to wear his big boy underpants over the weekends now.

Yesterday after work, Dom and I walked outside, down the hill, pushed the button and grabbed a flag to cross the street, unlocked the car, and Dom climbed in. Just as he was settling into his car seat, he turns to me concerned, “I need potty.”

Out of the car, lock it, back across the street, up the stairs, inside the building, down the hallway, and into the handicap stall.

After peeing, Dom was fascinated with how loud the flush was.

We put his diaper back on, pants on, wash hands, back down the hallway, back outside, and then down the stairs.

Dom didn’t want help.

He didn’t want to hold my hand.

He held on to the railings, reaching on his tippy toes and slipping down one step at a time. It took me half a dozen stairs before I realized what he was saying with each step.

“Careful, careful, careful, careful, careful.”

One thought on “Potty training

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