Potty All the Time

My world has been consumed by the toilet for two days. Henry, whose fixations make me look like an OCD lightweight, has fixated on doing his business in the potty. Which should make me extremely happy.

Instead, he is driving me insane.

He has been accident free, due in large part to his insistance on sitting on the pot every fifteen minutes. The first seven or eight or twelve times, it was cute. I high fived and potty danced and heaped praise for the tiniest dribble. I pulled a muscle while executing a triple salchow after he pooped. By this evening, I barely give him a raised eyebrow and a 'Oh, pee pee potty. That's great.'

I have to watch him, though. Yesterday, he tiptoed out of his room and into the bathroom, where he managed to unroll an entire roll of toilet paper and shove it into the toilet. Two plastic bags and a thorough handwashing later, we had the toilet paper etiquette talk.

"Toilet paper only when you poo poo."
"Poo poo?"
"Yes, only when you poop."
"Poo poo potty?"
"Yes, only when you poop on the potty."
"Poo poo?"
"Yes."
"Potty?"
"Yes."
"High five?"
"Yes, you get high five when you potty."
"HIGH FIVE? HIGH FIVE? HIGH FIVE?"
"Yes, when you poop."
"Poo poo potty?"

Here's another thing about potty training my boy - he's not a big talker. Whereas both girls were highly verbal and could communicate with ease (Mommy, I need to use the bathroom, although it is not an extreme emergency. Please finish reading that highly informative article about Oscar fashions before escorting me to the restroom.), Henry just screams POTTY! and runs with alarming speed through the house and vaults himself onto the toilet. POTTY! could mean 'I think I might have a tiny bit of wee', or it could mean, 'I am getting ready to jettison a huge load and you'd better come quick because I've taken off my pants and I won't hesitate to drop a deuce on the floor'.

Then there's the flushing.

Honey, you only need to flush one time. OK, good job, no more flushing. THAT'S GOOD! OK, stop flushing. STOP. STOP FLUSHING!

I probably shouldn't complain about the flushing. I've never subscribed to 'if it's yellow, let it mellow; if it's brown, flush it down.' The thought of peeing on top of someone else's pee makes me a little queasy. I will completely abandon a public restroom if all the toilets contain remnants of the previous occupants. Peeing on top of a loved one's pee is gross enough. Peeing on stranger pee? Do you want me to have a panic attack?

What happened? Heart condition? Overdose? Too much to drink?
Worse than that, I'm afraid. She peed on stranger pee.

Maybe Henry and I will avoid public restrooms for a while longer. It's probably best.