Two nights ago, I got Sammy all nice and packaged up in his jammies… both pairs, since it’s a little chilly in his room, and of course a onsie… and we sat down to snuggle in his rocker to read a book before bed. That is, until he interrupted our quiet time with this:

“I poop!”

“You have to poop?” I said, dreading the undressing and redressing and general delay of bedtime that this was about to cause. “I poop!” he happily replied.

So off we went… and sure enough, he was right.

Last night, the exact same thing happened – as soon as he figured out that we were headed for the rocker, and therefore he was headed to bed, he shouted “I poop!”

Again, we undressed. I sat him on the potty and I sat on the floor. We read books. We talked. We waited. An nothing happened. Eventually, I bundled him back up – onesie and jammies and jammies #2, and we headed back to his room.

As soon as we sat down in the rocker again, he started struggling. “Noooooo… I pooooop,” he said, although this time it was with more whining and less excitement.

This time, though, I wasn’t going to go through it again. He had a diaper on, the worst that could happen is that he’d go in it. And, you know, completely regress in his potty training. But late last night, it was a risk I was willing to take. Fortunately, he woke up this morning clean and dry, but this only means one thing.

He has figured out the perfect way to stall the bedtime procedures, the little bugger.

Sammy’s 21 months old now, and within the last month or so he has started talking so much, and it’s so much fun. I love his little voice – it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. His voice has so much inflection – when he sees me walk into a room, he’ll say “Hellllllo, MaMA!” I can’t really do it justice in written form, but it is cute – take my word for it!

He loves everything sports, and gets SO excited when he sees a game on tv. He can identify baseball, basketball, football (he’s always saying “Touchdown BUCKEYES!”), the St. Louis Cardinals and Albert Pujols (those of you who know my husband will not be surprised by that, I’m sure) and he’s always telling us he wants to watch a “ballgame with Dada.” Last Friday, Sammy knew we were going to the high school basketball game that night and he wanted to be prepared – he picked out his Cardinals outfit and Reds hat and insisted on wearing them all day.

He also loves his sister. For the longest time, he couldn’t say Kate, so he called her Sissy (which made me cringe, I must admit), but now he refers to her as “Tate.” He’s always asking us “Where Tate go?” when he can’t see her. Although it’s more like “Where Tate doh?” because for whatever reason his “g” sounds like “d.” Which reminds me of my favorite of his expressions – “Let’s DOH!”

Last night, he was saying goodnight to Daddy before I put him to bed. Andy told Sam he loved him, and Sammy replied “Love you Dada.” It was the first time he’d said that and it just about made me cry! He is such a sweet little boy.

I love being able to have conversations with him, and it’s so nice for him to be able to tell us what he wants or needs.

I love that little voice, and I love that little boy.

I never pictured myself searching my house for a puddle of pee, but that’s exactly what happened tonight.

Sam’s 21 months old now, and he’s very excited about the prospect of going in the potty. Not that he’s actually done it or anything, but it sure looks fun when Elmo does it. We’ve put him on the potty a few times to no avail, but that’s about as far as we’ve gotten.

This afternoon we all went out to play in the snow (I will post pictures of Sam dressed in a blanket sleeper, two pairs of his dad’s socks – his boots won’t fit anymore – and Kate’s old purple jacket and pink hat with pom poms as soon as I get them uploaded. Oh and he also had pink socks on his hands because I couldn’t find his gloves). In any case, when we got back in, he looked at me and said “poopy!” I said “Did you poop?” and he said no, but said yes when I asked him if he needed to. He said “Let’s go!” and off to the potty we ran. Again, nothing happened, but I had the bright idea to leave his diaper off for a while. I put some Baby Legs on him and let him run free.

Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, we tried the potty thing off and on, but he didn’t do anything. He hadn’t had any accidents either, so I thought he would surely have to do something soon. I wanted to give it one last try before putting him to bed, so I sat him on the potty and let him read “Elmo Goes Potty” for a while. As he was enjoying his reading time, I took his Baby Legs off since I was going to put him in his jammies. At that point, I realized the Baby Legs were wet. I had cleaned up (what I thought was) juice he spilled a little bit earlier, and I couldn’t tell if what was on them was juice or pee. (The sniff test was inconclusive, if you can believe that.) So I decided to ask him.

Me: Sammy, what is on your socks?
Sammy: Juice!
Me: Is it juice or pee pee?
Sammy: Pee pee!
Me: Did you pee pee on your socks?
Sammy: No! Juice!
Me: So is this juice or pee pee?
Sammy: Pee pee.
Me: Where is the rest of the pee pee?
Sammy: Socks.
Me: I know this is on your socks, but where is the rest? Where did you pee pee?
Sammy: In Daddy’s room.
Me: You pee peed in Daddy’s room?
Sammy: No. Pee pee in the potty.
Me: No, you didn’t pee pee in the potty. Can you show me where the pee pee is?
Sammy: Daddy’s room!

So we went to Daddy’s room (which incidentally is also my room). I looked at the carpet critically, but didn’t see anything. As I looked around the bathroom floor in our room, it occurred to me that I was searching my house for a pool of pee. Never thought I’d do that, but disturbingly it seemed perfectly normal. I guess I am officially fully entrenched in parenthood.

Eventually I found what I was looking for – on the floor next to Sammy’s chair at the kitchen table. The chair on which he likes to stand. Next to the table on which I had earlier cleaned up “spilled juice.”

Can someone pass the Lysol wipes?