It's My Potty and I'll Try If I Want To . . .

You probably don't want to read this, but it is so much of what passes for excitement at our house these days. You know what, don't read it. Unless you actually like gratuitous mommyblogging. And then you can read it, but don't judge me. Or go ahead--I've given in, so what do I care?

Deep breath, here goes: Allison Clare successfully used the potty . . . twice.

We are not crazy potty-train-before-one-year people, but I'd bought a potty seat because I thought it might be more comfortable for AC to sit on when she is rather obviously, uncomfortably, and unselfconsciously (read: loudly) attempting to do what one does not normally do while sitting on a flat surface. I put her on the potty during one of these . . . episodes, and to my surprise, while she did not do what I expected (#2--apparently a false alarm), she seemed to know the purpose of the apparatus (#1). I tried again this morning when she woke up, and she did it again.

My grandmother used to tell with some pride a story about my mother, called On Her First Birthday, She Wore Silk Panties. I had my doubts about whether it could be true, but now I suspect that my grandmother must have just put her baby on the potty frequently enough that she considered her "potty trained." Will AC follow in her grandmother's footsteps? I don't think so, largely because I don't think we're committed enough to get her on the potty every hour. But it would, after all, bring new meaning to the words "granny panties."