Skip to main content

Anal-retentive

We are in the throws of potty-training. The rabbit is succedding nicely -- however she has been prone, a bit, to 'holding it in" -- at least on the poop side of things. Unsure what to do after three days of abstaining, I called my sister in a panic. She recommended taking one of the rabbit's thermometers, rubbing some Vaseline on it and, yes, trying to loosen things up. The rabbit needless to say was not thrilled. And while it did the trick, she has understandably developed a horror of the "tamometer."

We are again back to square one. Three days out and nada. This morning as we stood in line at the post office, she howled out, "I don't WANT to go poop! I don't WANT to go pee! I don't want a tamometer in my bootie!"

Nice. Nothing like giving your neighborhood ammunition for the "bad mommy" looks.

Comments

Kate B. said…
LOL. Poor rabbit. But my real sympathies lie with you, MM. Potty training is torture, even when they're willing - did I tell you the Small(er) One has just decided to potty train herself at the grand old age of 18 months? It sounds great but there is the major drawback of having to stand next to her while she's perched on the loo - she won't use the potty- for up to 20 minutes at a time so that she won't fall off. She has grand ambitions that she is unable to fulfill on her own...
Oh, the joys. I've been working on this sort of thing off and on (okay, more off) for about 8 months. Hopefully they'll be potty trained in time for junior high. That could get really embarassing.

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...