So Sammy has expressed a renewed interest in potty training. We haven't pushed the issue, since who knows what time in the hospital and the surgery are going to do in that arena. We figure we'll let him go at his own pace.
The other day I brought him into the wonderland that is our basement. (After the first time I brought him down there, he told a friend, "That's where the toys all live!") He spied his little trainer potty and proceeded to scream for half an hour, complete with foot stomping and pulling on the door handle, until I went downstairs and brought it up.
So today I figured - he's sporting a little bit of a rash, I'd let him run around sans-bottoms for a while. Sure enough, he told me when he had to go on the potty, and sure enough, he peed on the potty. Go, Sammy!
But not before I caught him sitting quietly on the couch. When I asked him what he was doing, he casually replied, "I'm wiggling my peepee."
And so it begins. Boys. Sigh.





My name is erika-renee, but call me eka - pronounced "eh-ka." I'm suddenly somehow 32, though I still love pigtails and overalls and silly, happy things. I live north of Boston, and I'm happily married to
I'm a mama!
