This morning started out as a normal morning. I went into Sasha’s room at about 7:20 to get her up, and she told me she wanted to get dressed. No, not that dress, she said, the flower one—the one that’s probably too light for today’s wet weather. Whatever. I helped her into clean undies and put the flowery dress over her head.
As I was zipping up the back of her dress, she started to dance. “Peepee! Peepee!” she said, and I hurried her into the bathroom. She had a nice long pee, and I handed her toilet paper to wipe. She refused.
Huh? Come on, I thought: You’ve wiped a million times before. You can do it again. You’re a big girl, right?
But then Sasha said, “I want to poop.”
And then it came: Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
A look of joy spread on Sasha’s face, and it must’ve spread on mine, too. She’d done it, without prompting, and I wiped her ass gratefully. This might be an anomaly, but it felt like a turning point.
“I’m going to tell Mommy!” Sasha cried as she stood and pulled her undies up. Jean came in to see what the fuss was. “Mommy, I pooped!” Sasha said, then held up four fingers. “I did five poops!” (We’ll get her clear on numbers later.)
After Jean left, Sasha turned to me and said, in what I think was a Knuffle Bunny reference, “Daddy, I realized something.”