Designer Poop

About two and a half months ago I excitedly wrote an entry titled "Poop Goes in the Potty" after the creepy song on the For the Kids Three album. It felt like the beginning of an era which, when followed immediately by an excited dad chasing his kid around saying, "Do you have to potty now? How about now? Now do you? Potty? No?" fizzled into an aberration...and perhaps a future personality disorder or at the very least a phobia.

Now, with the help of good old Father Time, the infinitely wise (and totally rich) Dr. Sears, and your friendly neighborhood acid trip - I mean Walmart - we have decided once again to embark upon the road to diaper-freedom. The journey began last Saturday in aisle six thousand something, a distant corner of WM's massive Ukiah complex lined with everything you never imagined your child could possibly need - and then six more of each of those things designed by everyone from Disney to John Deere.

After picking up a twelve pack of Dora the Explorer underwear, we headed over the to Tower of Potties located ironically right across from the Mountain of Diapers. It was as though they were taunting or daring or perhaps just quietly whispering, "C'mon. It's much easier to change a diaper than to clean shit off a carpet." With the exception of a case of overnight Huggies, we resisted their charms and stayed focused on our mission.

Carrie had read in one of our Sears books that getting kids involved in choosing their beds and their potties helps them to become invested in the transitions. Although the number of choices was daunting, I was on board, Carrie was excited, and Amari was about twenty feet away looking at a shovel shaped like a frog. Carrie and I discussed our options and the only suggestion I made was choosing one with a softer seat than the cheapo we had at home. Initially ignoring this suggestion, Carrie began pulling potties off the shelves and placing them on the floor. Eventually, she'd barricaded our aisle and summoned Amari, who had now discovered a turtle that doubled as a drum or a bowl, over to choose her potty.

Let me quickly mention that her choices included a bright pink princess potty complete with magic wand flush sounds, a Cars potty with contrasting vroom vroom soundtrack, and a Fisher Price potty that had different sounds for different potty activities. It's shocking how early the gender role imprinting begins - girls poop is magic and boys poop is like cars driving really fast. Fun. There were other choices without soft seats, but when Carrie realized Amari was much more interested in shitting on her frog or turtle, she narrowed the selection down to three. Amari then narrowed it down to one - a bright, pink, princess potty.

So, stage one complete. Success - except for the pink and the princess part. On the way home, however, Carrie said she doesn't want her contempt for those things to influence Amari either. I appreciated her open-mindedness both in the moment and afterwards, because my first reaction was, "Are you sure you don't want this one?" Vroom, vroom?

Tomorrow, I will submit my first report on stage two.

G'night.