yesterday, i am upstairs putting laundry away and avery yells:
"mommy, ashton's going potty!"
i hightail it downstairs, imagining the worst, only to find sweet little thing letting her potty flow freely on her potty chair. yes, that's right, she pulled her brand new minnie undies down, took a seat and did her business. she's potty training herself, really.
so we clap and dance and flush the stuff down the toilet and i run upstairs to tell dave the glorious news. during our victory hug, avery yells:
"mommy, ashton's going poopy!"
thinking we celebrated too soon, i sprint back down the stairs to find her back on her potty chair, grinning because she knows she's so stinkin' smart and the poop has indeed made it into the potty chair. wowsers. she's good.
she laughs as she grips the handle with both pudgy hands to make it flush.
"bye bye poopy!"
she waves, lets the lid slam hard on the bowl and parades out the door as if she's the first (almost) 2-year-old ever to figure this out.
the girl is potty trained.
and she's two tomorrow.