As of 2:00 PM, Pacific Standard Time, on this date, Wednesday, February thirteenth, In the Year of Our Lord two thousand and eight ... the only dirty diapers I have yet to change belong to my seven-month-old son, Henry.
After the little "talk" that Charlie had with William last week, he has been using the potty almost exclusively. Not only is he using the potty during the day, he has been waking up dry whenever he goes to sleep. Minus the small set back we had yesterday when he thought that he was making beautiful music - and instead was making the largest underwear disaster I've ever seen, he's done an exemplary job.
Elizabeth, seeing the praise that her brother has been receiving, has decided that maybe gracing the potty with her poop isn't such a bad idea. And Carolyn, who has never once gone poop in the potty, went poop on the potty just today.
And then Elizabeth, who loves praise, climbed up and went poop again.
And then William, who also loves praise, climbed up and went poop again.
And then Elizabeth, who clearly loves praise the most, climbed up and went poop for the third time in 30 minutes while I stood by wondering how in the world a child that weighs so little can poop so much.
Now that my three-year-old children appear to be using the potty successfully, the only obstacle is how to get the girls to sit down when they need to go. Since William has embraced standing up and likes to pretend he is putting out a fire, the girls are trying to figure out how they, too, can stand up and pee. After catching them standing on top of the toilet seat and trying to *aim*, they aren't yet convinced that this elimination stance is limited to boys.
Meanwhile, the time I'm saving from changing diapers, will undoubtedly be spent cleaning the bathrooms.