Have you seen anything cuter?If you walk out the barn door Maisy will promptly inform you that grandpa needs to clean up the plops. By plops, she is referring to the frozen piles of horse crap that scatter the paddocks. In this post, however, plops refer to the poops that Maisy dropped on the floor on her way to the bathroom. Where is grandpa when you need him?
Since arriving in Amsterdam, Maisy has regressed in her potty training. She was about 90% reliable before we got here and only occassionally had accidents at night. But she is now missing routinely. When she does tell you that she has to go, you have seconds to get her to the potty before she wets herself.
The night before leaving Amsterdam, my mother was responsible for those plops that landed on the floor. She and Maisy were packing her bags, hanging laundry or just puttering about the guest bedroom when Maisy sounded the alarms. "Gradma, I have to go poopy!" So grandma acted on instinct and scooped her up, pulled off her pants and ran her down the hallway to the bathroom. The only problem with that sequence of events is that the removal of the pants occured before she got to the bathroom. Maisy made it to the potty and finished pooping. And when grandma turned her head and looked down the hallway she noticed that Maisy had pooped on the floor.
Joel and I were not happy with grandma's decision to take Maisy's pants off before getting to the bathroom. But we did laugh when grandma realized that she had stepped in one of those plops. It will come as no surprise to you that know my mom that she didn't even realize that the squishy sensation she felt underfoot was poop until she looked back and saw it. So, in addition to the plops in the hall...there was a trail of poop footprints leading to the bathroom!
Grandpa may complain about having to pick up frozen horse plops, but I'd take a frozen plop over a steaming one any day. To add insult to injury, the pine floors in our apartment were roughly installed, which means that they often have gaps between the boards. And, of course, Maisy's plop landed squarly in the middle of two boards with a big gap between them. As you can imagine, it was a miserable clean up.
The regression in pottying training is probably a result of her disrupted routine and new environment. But it may also be because the toilets in our home were designed for Dutch giants. My feet barely touch the floor when I am sitting, so Maisy has to get a stool to climb onto the throne by herself. A big disincentive for a child that was taking herself to the potty at grandma's farm house. The children's potty seat doesn't fit properly either, and if I don't help hold it while she sits down it will slide and even fall in. Yes, it did happen. The seat slipped and fell into the toilet - taking Maisy's bottom with it. Fortunately, I was right there to catch her before she spashed.
Before I end, I have to share that Sophie loves sitting on the potty and playing with her tubbie toys. First thing very morning she does her plops, which is wonderful because then I don't have to worry about cleaning any diaper bombs while we are out in the city.
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