Audrey has been doing really well with the whole big-girl using the bathroom idea. So far, so good, no accidents, (except for a few dress hems falling in) and if anything, she's a little too enthusiastic about it. She wants to go all the time, it seems. I even had to pull over, just the other day, to take her into a restroom inside Starbucks because she suddenly had the urge. Even though she swore she didn't when I'd asked as we left five minutes before. That's okay, been here, done this.
She wants help, then sends you away. Sometimes, she dresses herself; others I chase her down the hall: "Put your clothes on in the bathroom, not out in the living room." "Privacy," she commands, pointing to the door. "But sit on the bed," she adds. We've been patient, and accepting of her demands, because we are very pleased that things have been going so well.
Mr W called out to me the other night, "Hey, come here for a minute." I thought he was going to show me some long lost episode of COPS, so I dawdled. And he hollered again, so I huffed on in. (I was making dinner, I don't like to be interrupted, because then I get sidetracked, and although I am a good cook, I burn things too.)
"Check her out," he mouthed, pointing to the bathroom. Man, if he's calling me in here for the cleanup, I'm killing him with this spatula, I thought. He read my mind, too, because he mimed what she was doing before I could threaten him with death.
I peek into the bathroom, carefully. She's sitting on the toilet, with a catalog in her hands. Thumbing through it, like she knows what's what, complete with knit brow, like she's concentrating on what she's reading.
Well. I guess she has this bathroom thing down better than I thought.
I'd have started to tease Mr W about who she got that idea from, when I realized it smelled like something was burning in the kitchen.
Oh, yeah. I'm on top of things....