So we have begun the potty training, Thus far, we’re being met with pretty good success. The one thing that has dawned on me, however, is that the “training” in potty training is becoming more applicable to us rather than to her. Seriously, Morgan has us trained better than Pavlov’s dogs, no bell necessary. All she has to do is say, “I have to go potty,” and we drop everything, come running, scoop her up, drop her on the pot, hand her a book and say, “Call me when you’re finished”. Evidently, she likes her privacy.

But here’s the thing: She announces her need for the toilet at the most interesting times. Say she isn’t that taken with the culinary feast of grilled chicken, hummus, and green beans that I have prepared for dinner. “I have to go potty.” How about when we’ve done our nighttime ritual and we’re lowering her into the crib? “I have to go potty.” My personal favorite? When we are in the middle of Wal-Mart/Target/the mall or any other place where finding the bathroom, let alone getting there requires pack mules and a Sherpa, she says, of course, “I have to go potty.”

And of course, I drop everything, careen us through the aisles, find the bathroom, kick open the stall, line the seat, drop her pants, tear off the pull-up, sit her on the pot and she says, “I’m done.”

Yeah, me, too.