I have decided that this weekend, my son established beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is a super genius. He knows a variety of words, and even uses them appropriately. One of those words is “puppy”. At first we thought he was using it to indicate one of the three dogs that cohabitate with us. But my husband noticed that while saying “puppy puppy puppy” Cooper was sqatting and grunting, the usual signs that a biological process was taking place in his shorts. So he asked Cooper “are you pooping” to which Cooper nodded. “Do you need to get your diaper changed” Another nod and a toddle in the direction of the stairs, because all diaper changes happen on the changing table in his room upstairs.

SUPER GENIUS – he knows what pooping is, and he has a word for it. It might not be the exact correct word for it, but it is a word none the less.

I am not anticipating that he will be potty trained tomorrow, but the clock is ticking. His grandmother, my husband’s mother, otherwise known as Meme in the French Canadian culture that spawned Bob and explains my child’s blonde hair and blue eyes, has informed me that her super genius son, father of my super genius, (it apparently runs in the family like the hair and eyes) was potty trained by 18 months of age. I have informed Cooper of this bench mark, however I have also made sure he understands that he has nothing to prove to me. I will love him and adore him and celebrate all of his milestones no matter when he leaves those diapers behind. But I have also informed him that there is an outside time limit – the school he attends requires children be potty trained before they can enroll in the Toddler II class. That is a year and 5 months away. So tick tock….


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