Is It Too Early to Potty Train?

It’s an hour after my second ever Zumba class, and I’m downing my protein smoothie (aka, dinner) wondering why someone can’t invent soy protein powder that dissolves. I suppose I can learn to overlook the grainy texture and odd taste of the soy protein, but it would be nice if I didn’t have to. Tonight’s Zumba went a lot better than my first class. For starters, I managed to keep up with at least most of the left to rights, and a good bit of the footwork. I’m still missing a few of the arm movements, and I doubt very much my hips will ever move like that, but hey, I’m making improvement.

Aside from my evening workout, I did very little else today. As my body adjusts to the new workout regime, it’s protesting by depriving me of much-needed energy. So, instead of zooming around the house making things shiny and spotless, I managed to get the laundry caught up, and didn’t worry about the rest. I’m sure I’ll regret it later, but I’ve found it’s nearly impossible to get the house actually clean while Carson is here.

Turns out, it’s a good thing I didn’t do too much else today. I wouldn’t have had the energy for what happened after Zumba. I should have known Carson’s intentions when I came to pick him up from child care, and he giggled and laughed at me. All the ladies picking up their kids oohed and aahed over him, “Oh, look how cute he is! He sure knows who his mommy is!” But behind that adorable grin lurked sinister thoughts. He gurgled and cooed in the backseat the whole way home. As we turned into the neighborhood, however, he started to grunt and strain. I drove a little faster. By the time we had pulled into the driveway, he was finished, and that calm little voice in my head said, “there’s no way he overflowed his diaper again. That was just a fluke.” The evil little voice in my head said, “There’s poop everywhere. It’s smeared into the carseat, and it’s running down his legs.” I held my breath as I unbuckled him. Sure enough, there was a dark, wet stain on his shirt at bellybutton level. But, hey, that’s not so bad…oh. Wait… There was at least a full ounce of poop filling up the padding on the brand new carseat. And, it was smeared into the buckle. “Really, Carson? Again?” I started to wonder if this would qualify as a Red Cross-worthy message. “Could you please send Ryan home? His son won’t stop pooping everywhere.” To the bathtub again. This time, though, I left his clothes and diaper on while I cleaned up the buckle, removed the carseat padding, and gathered the post bath supplies. Carson laughed gleefully the entire time. The kid is smart, I tell you. He loves bathtime so much, he’s pooping all over himself so I will give him a bath every night instead of every other night. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in my stinky gym clothes again.

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