Last week, Sacha said something that left me in a swoon. It was not “I love you,” or “You are the best mom,” or “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” although all of the above is uncategorically true.
What he said was, “Mama, I need to poop.”
And so with great joy, I gave away the last of our diapers to a younger and more deserving customer.
After many, many months of trial, to say nothing of error, I can, at long last say that Sacha is at toilet-trained. CAPS LOCK CANNOT SUFFICIENTLY CONVEY THE MAGNITUDE OF THAT SENTENCE.
While he hasn't needed diapers for several weeks, he was more a well-trained circus monkey than truly trained, able to perform impressive tricks on command in exchange for a treat.
We had a ritual, which involved reading Everyone Poops, followed by a few minutes privacy, and then, great rejoicing. Thanks to this book, our family knows more about defecation habits throughout the animal kingdom than I ever thought possible, or necessary.
We have spent so much time with this story that not only do we have it memorized, but Sacha is now an emerging reader. Which makes it even more of a relief that he is finally trained, as it would have been extremely embarrassing, to say nothing of disconcerting, had he continued to shit himself while reading Tolstoy. Thank you, Taro Gomi, for so effectively teaching my son that two O's make the “oo” sound. You have replaced Dr. Seuss in the literary pantheon.
While I am relieved to put a period on this developmental milestone, I can not help but entertain ominous thoughts about what lies ahead. Because if toilet training is a gauge, I am very, very afraid for Sacha's adolescence.