Day 3 of potty training ended with a bowl of ice cream and a steaming pile of shit on the kitchen chair.
Day 2 went much better, but because a) we bought a potty for the kitchen and b) we ask him constantly whether he needs to go. And because we had a 2-1 ratio.
Part of day 3's low success rate at daycare was the number of kids vs. teachers. Also, someone forgot to tell the substitute teacher he is being trained. Two bags of "accident" clothes came back with us. We joked about putting a sign on his t-shirt that says: "Ask me about using the potty!"
Last night, I cleaned up while Kiff brought G upstairs to sit on the potty and get hosed down. He ran a bath and I came up to hug G, getting smeared with offensive substance in the process (I know what they say, but the fact that it's your kid does not negate the gross factor). As I peeled off my clothes and hopped in the bath with G, Kiff emptied and cleaned the potty.
I looked up at Kiff.
"Happy, darling?" I asked him.
He paused. Wrinkled his nose. "Yes!"
