Potty Training

Potty training was Alleke's idea. She came streaking through the apartment, dripping from her inflatable swimming pool in the kitchen. I watched her hop like a dolphin with her knees together and disappear into the bathroom.

"Potty," she yelled, and I bolted out of my chair.

She sat on her potty and kicked her legs while I sat on the edge of the tub–not sure if I was supposed to do something. I had as much experience with potty training as Alleke did. She seemed confident at least.

She asked to read a book, and when she finished, she set it down, stood up, looked in the potty, and pointed. I looked over her shoulder.

There was a puddle.

"Nice work," I said.

I'm no expert on potty training. Alleke just lets me tag along when she has to go. I'm there for moral support. But what I find interesting is that Alleke started using the potty when she had to.

It's been hot, so Alleke's been running around in her birthday suit, in and out of her pool like our apartment is her personal water park. Alleke had a few accidents at first (one involving a turd rolling under the couch), but once she realized diapers were no longer an option, she looked for the next best thing, the toilet, which she had seen Mom and Dad use. Potty training was not so much an accomplishment, like crossing a finish line, but a solution to a problem. It was practical.

Let's just hope Alleke doesn't realize the easier option would be to go in her swimming pool.

Posted with permission from Spain Dad