The haps
This week Henry embarked upon the journey that is commonly known as "potty training". Armed with only toddler-sized underpants and a very large bag of M&M's, I laid out the ground rules for basic bathroom etiquette (his dad can flesh out the rest since I don't know exactly what-all men do in the bathroom, being a lady and all) and soon we were on our way. I'm not going to expound upon the particulars because once a kid is old enough to both sit on the potty *and* sincerely ask his mom for a little privacy, I figure I should respect that request all the way to Moveable Type's "Create New Entry" screen. Plus I don't want to jinx our amazing progress. Let's just say he's doing so well you can practically hear the M&M's rattling around in his tummy. Let's also say he's doing so well he got an extra special treat in the form of a magnetic fishing pole complete with little wind-up fish to catch. It's going to be a fun time in the bathtub tonight.
And just for the record, there's nothing like potty-training to make you feel like everything in your house reeks of urine, regardless of whether it actually does or not. One should really not have to focus so much time and attention to another persons, ummm, "outputs".