Anal Retentive

I guess I should mention, in case it comes up later during your therapy, that I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants here. I deliberately choose to read very little on the subject of 'parenting', which can be directly attributed to being completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information that is available just on the subject of pregnancy. Nine measly months, and the amount of conflicting advice/theories/anecdotal evidence/scientific study is staggering. At about month 6 I just sort of shut down and refused to integrate any new information. If I had a weird symptom ("hm, my hands are completely numb...I wonder if I should worry?") I looked it up to see if it was 'normal' but that was it. ("Normal" in the context of pregnancy is a fallacy anyway. You could be spouting arterial blood from a severed limb and doctors would pat you on the head condescendingly and say, "Yeah, that happens sometimes during pregnancy. It's normal.")

You're 10 months old - can you imagine how red and swollen my brain would be by now if I tried to keep 'up to date'? So I only look up specific things and ask questions of a few select people. I also try to ignore 'helpful' advice that is thrown (sometimes with a lot of force) my way. Things like "Let him cry, he'll get tired of it eventually" and "Oh, my, you don't want him in your bed when he's 12!". Surprisingly, people don't offer me advice very often, which doesn't coincide with other mamas experiences. Either I actually look like I know what I'm doing, or people figure I'm beyond all possible aid.

In keeping with this spirit I've started putting you on the potty. And you're peeing in it. Going in the potty at 10 months old sounds rather precocious, but I suspect it's more fluke than anything. I put you on there when I have to go, which means you get a lot of opportunities, since I suffer from what my mother calls "t.b. syndrome". You seem to know what's expected of you, because if you don't have to go you crawl/fall off right away, tiny bum waving in the air. If you do have to go you crouch there looking up at me with a sly smile, until I hear the telltale tinkle. You've gone at least twice each day for the past few days.

This unexpected progress doesn't, of course, preclude you saving up a ginormous, wall-splattering shit for the change table, which you then grab with both hands and smear on your own chest. At least you stop short of flinging it, little monkey.