If you enjoyed the last post, you’ll really like this one.
You’ll be pleased to know that Zoe is officially pee-pee trained (notice I didn’t say POTTY trained). In fact, this past week when we picked up Zoe from school the teachers had either thrown away or packaged in a plastic bag Zoe’s “big girl panties” and transitioned her into pull-ups. She had gone pee-pee in the potty with ease, but the daily poop – and she’s quite regular – had been in her panties, every time.
That’s when Bart and I realized we don’t remember her ever actually pooping in the potty (not in round one OR round two of our potty experience). And apparently, that’s a more difficult skill to learn.
So my brilliant husband got a brilliant idea. He had already taken Zoe to IKEA and shown her how fun Småland (an indoor playground onsite) was, and we both had heard the story of my nephew Spencer being SO EXCITED to go to Småland that he had sped up his own potty training just to get in. See, you can’t go IN if you’re not potty trained, fully (and that includes poop).
So yesterday morning, Bart used 2 carrots to encourage Zoe to poop in the potty:
- Ice Cream!
And guess who pooped in the potty for the first time yesterday?!
So off to IKEA we went for ice cream, “alone time” parent shopping and of course, Småland. In we walked, and responsible Daddy took Zoe to the restroom, where she peed on cue while I filled out the necessary form to get her in. I grabbed a numbered bin and wrote it on the form; Zoe removed her shoes and put them in that bin; then, the uncaring, rule-abiding teenager who was responsible for entry to the coolest place on earth made my daughter stand by a height chart…
Turns out you also have to be 37 inches tall to get in. And turns out Zoe is only 36.5 inches tall (not kidding). She wasn’t quite “in the yellow” (the section ABOVE the line), so the cranky teenager said “sorry, sweetie. you can’t go in”, and my husband almost died (luckily, I had nothing sharp on hand).
Unlike me, Zoe did a GREAT job of handling the news. Yes, she cried a little, but she was open to the other “carrot” and Daddy quickly got her to the ice cream counter at IKEA. Smart man. Then, she sang a couple of sad songs that went like “I wanted to go to Småland, but I couldn’t get in. I wasn’t in the yellow.” (you’d have to hear it to appreciate it, I guess – and I’d love to try and video it, but I refuse to say “Småland” until I can confirm she’s 37 inches tall).
Bad news is that today, no poop in the potty. BUT that’s just one day (and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know how long it takes to grow half an inch, so I’ll chalk it up as “unrelated” to the Småland incident). Plus, we were at the Natural History Museum with lots going on, so maybe it was that.