Dada says I should write an apology to Isaac

Right now we all have horrible head colds, but amazingly things are going much better with both boys. I think all of our positive attitudes are solar-powered, and the sudden influx of sun and the ensuing outside time has helped us all. And helped Jacob get a nice rash all over his cheeks and chin from slobbering on the Bjorn.

I have discovered that, with Isaac and his two-fits, about 90% of the nastiness stems from my attitude towards his attitude. That is, if I am not in the mood to deal with him, he is encouraged to dish it out Hungry-Man-style. However, if I can be cool and channel my inner Good Mom, trying to make light of things or cracking a joke or whipping out the Tickle Monster or changing his focus to this shiny object over here, then everything is just fine.

I am trying to be that girl more, but I am also just tired. We are all by our lonesomes out here, with no family to help. Sure, we have a nice sitter; she comes by once a week for a couple of hours in the morning to watch Isaac as I clean the house or pretend like I'm working on my children's book (whose deadline got extended to June 15. For procrastination enhancement!). Meghan is great with Isaac, but she will touch my baby over my dead body. So basically we are going on two months with no external visitors, no really luxurious breaks for me.

My need for a mommy moratorium coincides neatly with the impending nuptials of Uncle Chris and Aunt Jean. We were going to drive home in two weeks, but recent circumstances, including my insistence that we sell the children to the gypsies, are allowing us to leave, in the car, to Indiana this Thursday. To say we are psyched is a complete understatement.

Happy 3 months to the Jakester

Jacob turned three months old on Friday. No doctor's visit until next month, but I can certainly give a mommy's-eye view of what's going on with him.

First and foremost, he continues on his quest to become the next O'Neal 'baller:


This is good, because we are from Indiana and we loves us some big whiteys who can shoot the three. But seriously, the child is large. For scale: the insanely adorable overalls he's wearing? Those are hand-me-downs from his girlfriend Ella. She wore them when she was TEN MONTHS OLD. Now, Ella is a petite young lady, but still. Jacob's unnatural length, with its girth to match, give me lots of chuckles when I put him in his car seat. Today I sat the Jacob-loaded car seat on the driveway next to the car as I put Isaac in the Isaac-seat and looked over to see some strange shadows waving back and forth, cast on the concrete, under Jacob's seat. At first I thought they were from leaves above blowing in the breeze, but no. They were Jacob's huge monkey feet, danging in their entirety over the edge of his seat and kicking like they belonged to a bitty ninja.

As if to keep up with his brother, Jacob is also becoming very verbal. Lots of "aaaaah-oh!" and baby-lion-like growls, lots of "bah" and "gah", and all embarrassingly loud. It's a good thing that Isaac can sleep through a nuclear holocaust, because trying to do any kind of interactive activity with Jacob while Isaac is asleep and the house is dead silent seems to give some cue to Jacob that he is meant to fill in the void where the noise is supposed to go.

Developmentally Jacob seems to be on or slightly ahead of the curve in a manner highly reminiscent of his brother. His head control is fantastic, and it seems like his vision must been cooperating because he looks this way and that at almost anything that captures his interest. He loves his mobile and kicks and squeals when I put him in the crib underneath it. He is already trying to grab or swat at things, most notably my hair, but also the animals that dangle from the arch above his bouncy seat. A few weeks ago while in his bouncy seat he discovered that he can cock his arm back towards his ear, and that, if he lets it fly, about half the time it will hit a dangly animal. This is exceedingly pleasant for me because it means he will sit contentedly in his chair for amazingly long stretches. Like any good baby, he hates his tummy time, but he gets it anyway and lifts his head up like a champ. And to frustrate his mother, he has not rolled over once since the infamous video of early last month. Soon, my pet, soon you will do it again.

Somebody figured out he's two! How stinkin' awesome for me!

I was blaming it on teething. Dada is trying to convince me it's a cold. But here it is, about a month after it started, and Isaac is becoming a bigger pill-bug by the hour. There are public tantrums; there are private tantrums. There is the incessant need to push or smack other kids, especially those littler than him, should they so much as touch anything he has decided is "MINE!" Should I tell him not to do something, he will repeat doing it until I finally give him a time-out.

It is quite obvious that he is a smart kid. He fully knows what is going on, and he also knows what is right and wrong, what is nice and what is mean. When he gets a time-out, I ask him, "Isaac, do you know why you got a time-out?" "Yes," he replies. "No push Ella!" His problem is that there is just the tiniest vapor of impulse control. On one of his better days last Friday, we met Ella and her family at the park in the evening. The whole way there, I pumped him up as though for a spelling bee:

Me: Now Isaac, we don't push Ella. We don't hit Ella.
Isaac: No push Ella! No hit Ella!
Me: You got it!
Isaac: You got it! No push Ella! No hit Ella, you got it!

There were at least two points during this same trip where I saw him reach his hand up to give Ella a smack on the head, or put his hands toward her in an attempt to push her... where suddenly he stopped, obviously putting two and two together, and retracted his hands. It was miraculous. And it didn't last more than twenty minutes.

He is freaking me out. I don't know what to do with him, because suddenly my superiorly delightful, angel child won't do a thing I tell him, and won't sit through even a dinner at Red Robin without pitching a violent, kicking fit. I think the worst part about all this is not just that this is my first time, really, being around a 2-year-old. It's not just that I don't have any clue if what he is doing is normal, if it will pass, or if I am doing the right things regardless of whether or not they are working now. No, the worst thing is looking at my darling mellow angel baby Jacob, knowing that in two years I will be reliving this crap all over again through him. Let's just hope the first one is over himself by then.

So sue me

Alright, so I bought more than just nice churchgoing shirts for the boys during my online babyGap shopping spree. I'm just one woman. Could *you* resist a sale on their adorable boy pjs, fully knowing that a) the toddler has outgrown all of his; b) his were all winter-oriented anyway; and c) if you just spend $30 more dollars you'd get free shipping? Okay, so that last one is a little sick, but you must admit I have a point.

The pjs arrive. They are so. ungodly. adorable. It's like they picked a powder blue out of the heavens specifically to complement my blonde young man. The hubs makes fun of me, but I can't let him wear them just to bed. What a waste! So we wore the shirt to the park (it comes with matching shorts. And we have a similar set that are green with monkeys driving cars).











Oh, and Jacob was there, too, doing what he tends to do when we go to the park.



We found a poor froggy there, who looks like his left leg is a little undone.


He seemed okay, though he wouldn't move when I tickled him with a piece of grass. Isaac and I left him some "get well" buttercups before we went home.

The Eastern Spotted Pants Frog

I was inspired to blog this one. For the baby book, you know.

We are really working over time to replace certain uglier portions of our vocabulary with words that are more ... let's say, Disneytastic. I have had fabulous success replacing my previously favorite naughty word with variations of "stink" -- "stink", "stinking", and "stinker". So much cuter, and with at least 75% of the sentiment retained.

For SOME of us (ahemmichaelahem) this mental mouth-cleansing has been more difficult than others. "You a*#hole," says Dada, at a motorist who cuts him off. "You mean, 'big stinker'," I correct. See? it's so versatile! However, I must give Dada credit. Ever the colorful one, he came up with the idea to say "pants frog" instead of "fart".

Usage:
The hubs lets a big one.
Dada: Isaac, did you hear a pants frog?
Isaac: Yup-pee!

At first this went on with Isaac just associating the phrase with a particular sound. But now that he knows what it really is, and where it comes from, he combines ideas. The other day he himself let a loud one while in his car seat. "Mommy!" he exclaimed, "I pooped a pants frog!"

Everyone poops

It's funny how different it is, having two kids instead of one. Before Isaac was born, I remember lots of people telling me how it would be: the sleep deprivation, the crying, the insane amount of love. Before you actually hold your very own baby in your arms, you can hear all of these things, nod your head and say "uh-huh", and think you understand them, but really, you can't possibly have a clue. In a similarly naive vein, when you are expecting your second, you can think how much you will enjoy having this new baby because now you are an experienced baby-wrangler. You know how to change a diaper, how to burp a baby, and even how to bathe one. While yes, you do know from experience the basics of how not to kill a small child on a daily basis, what somehow completely escapes your baby-expecting mind is that, for example, you won't be bathing one. You will be bathing two.

One day last month Michael was out of town hanging out on the beach doing "geology". On this day I was left alone for the first time, from baby-rise to baby-set, with both boys. Everything went as usual until after dinner, when it was customary for both kiddos to get a bath. How do you bathe two kids? Verrrrrrry slooooooowly. What we had been doing was 1) give Jacob to Dada; 2) I bathe Isaac; 3) give Isaac to Dada; 4) I bathe Jacob. From start to finish, this process took about an hour, especially taking into account that Isaac likes to splash around in the tub. That was a little annoying, but when Dada is gone this routine became impossible. So, like a good mommy of two, I improvised. I started a new routine: giving them both a bath at the same time. Here's how it goes:

1) Draw Isaac a bath. Gather fresh diapers, towels, and washcloths for both and fresh PJs for the J-monster.
2) Lay Jacob on the bathroom rug for some tummy time. Plop Isaac in the tub. Quickly scrub Isaac until Jacob can't take it anymore.
3) Throw a gigantic load of toys in the tub. Run the faucet again, filling Jacob's inflatable ducky tub with a pitcher. Give pitcher to the curious Isaac.
4) Strip Jacob. Bathe Jacob, singing entire repertoire of senior-year high school show choir program to stem fussing in both boys. Occasionally look over at Isaac and exclaim that "yes, that is a red ball/squeezy penguin" or "no splashing Mom!"
5) Remove Jacob from tub; diaper, lotion, dress. Remove Isaac from tub; diaper and lotion before releasing him into the wild. Dress later since Jacob is screaming.

This new routine was somewhat harried, but doable, and saved about a half-hour of bathing monotony, so it carried on for some time. This routine counts on one major thing: no situations requiring emergency clean-up when Jacob is in the tub. I am a lucky girl in many respects: I have three exceedingly handsome boys, a nice house, and a cat that doesn't wake me up at 5 in the morning anymore. I considered myself lucky with Isaac because, unlike all of his other bloggy compatriots, Isaac never, ever pooped in the bathtub. I read about the adventures of other people with a kind of sadistic glee: "HAHAHA," said I quietly behind my laptop screen, "my kid doesn't do that!"

You see now that I was obviously setting myself up for a fall.

Two weeks ago I was in the middle of Jacob's bath, with Isaac happily splashing away. Then Jacob, in his typical Jacob fashion, exploded, filling his bathwater with yellow goo. Not that he cared much, but I certainly did. I whisked His Fatness out of the ducky tub and held him while I rinsed him in the bathtub with Isaac, then stuck him on the bathroom rug while I dumped his poopy water, for no other useable outlet, down the sink. Yuck yuck yuck. It was so nasty that I was screaming, which of course got Isaac to screaming. I noted with much relief that I did the whole thing without stepping on Jacob.

Then last week Isaac announced "I pooping in the bath!" I blew him off, knowing that he's a faker. Well, sure enough, a couple grunts later, he asked, "What's that, Mama?" and I looked to see the two floating dookies he had created while I had my hands full with Jacob's bath. "It's your poop, Isaac," said I, not wanting to miss an opportunity to reinforce a potential potty-training issue. [Insert shrill girly scream of horror coming from Isaac here]. Propping Jacob up on the side of his tub, since His Fatness really couldn't go anywhere in there, I whisked Isaac out of his tub and gave him a thorough rubdown with Jacob's washcloth. I took Jacob out, drained both tubs, and removed the turds. Scouring the tub with bleach had to wait until much later, when I didn't have my hands so full. With babies or turds.

That was pretty much the end of the simultaneous bathing experience. The one-at-a-time system, though time-consuming, at least allows Dada and I to have some one-on-one time with each boy. And, should there be more poops to clean, at least I have one free hand.

So many reasons not to flee sans kids to Mexico!

The boys are conspiring against me this morning. When one stops fussing, the other starts it up. After listening to Jacob fuss for about a half-hour, I finally got him to sleep and Isaac and I tried to color at the kitchen table, far away from where Jacob snoozed so as to not disturb His Royal Light-Sleeping Highness. But of course, such horrible things came to pass in the kitchen as the markers rolling off the table, or, God forbid, their caps falling on the floor, and then the coup de grace of Isaac falling off the cursed kitchen table chair for only fourteen millionth time. You would think his mother would put a different chair in there for him to sit on, one with arms or something, wouldn't you?

So there was the psycho-loud fussing, which of course woke up Little Prince I-Hate-Naps to join the fuss chorus. Then Isaac wants to play on the computer. Though I have tried to teach him to use the mouse many many times, all he seems to want to do with it when left to his own devices is to shine the red laser on the bottom into his eyes. Obviously he didn't read the section in the owner's manual that suggests NOT TO DO THAT. But, Isaac, hon, can I "pway coh-pee-der" with you when the Jakester is fussing like this? Okay, fine, I'll put Jacob in his chair yet again today. And then there's Mt. Laundrymore calling. And the trash that needs taken to the curb. And your father who needs me to email him some pictures for his class. And here it is, 10:30, we have no milk in the house and the coffee is cold and gone, and Jacob, can't you just lie down and take your tummy-time like a man?

GAH!

It's times like these when the only cure is retail therapy. Clinging to the impending nuptials of my brother and his long-time lady love, I bought Jacob a handsome dressy shirt with big blue stripes to match his eyes. And then, for Jacob's baptism the day afterwards, I bought Isaac a handsome yellow dressy shirt to compliment his golden locks. And it was on sale! Somehow buying clothes for them makes them seem less like rabid anklebiters and more like junior male models.

Our fun-filled family nature walk

I begged Dada to take us all along for some quick field research he had to do today, coring trees along a stream in Pennsylvania. I say "Pennsylvania", but it was really only about 15 minutes away from our house in "Delaware". The hike there was short and all on a well-maintained horse trail. We thought it would be fun good exercise for Isaac (and myself, Bjorning a 15-lb baby the whole way). It ended up being mostly good exercise for Dada:







Surprisingly, there were several 18th century stone houses next to the trail, houses where only the facades remained.





Such beautiful surroundings created an irresistible opportunity for pictures of the handsome young man. "Come here, Isaac! No, wait, don't go IN the house..."





We encountered a party of equestrians on our walk back, which Isaac thought was cool from far away. When we got closer and he saw just how big these horse-things really are, though, he got scared and screamed for us to pick him up. We explained to him that horses are nice, though it's wise for him to keep a distance from them, and the rest of the walk back he repeatedly said "Horses not scary. No be scared of horses," as if trying that idea on.

When mommy remembers to take her camera to the park

We met Ella and Ella's mommy and daddy at the park after dinner for some pre-bedtime munchie exercise. Actually it turned into more exercise for myself and Dada, as Isaac took it upon himself to either whomp up on his future wife or throw wood chips in her face. Sigh. But good pictures were taken that make it look like our children are little joys sent only from heaven! Not from that other place with the white-hot flames, no!

Here is Ella, chasing that fascinating Isaac up the play structure. Ella (and thus Ella's mommy!) is new to this walking and climbing business -- note the cautionary momma-hand on her jacket hood:



What goes up...



...must come down:



Dada pretended like he was watching Isaac while I Bjorned Jacob. While Isaac practiced beating up some girls, I made Dada take pictures of me with Jacob:


(yes, Baby Freddie Krueger did a number on his cheek there before I could catch him and trim his nails.)







Are you paying attention to how incredibly long this child is?

Then we played the "I take a picture of you guys, and you take a picture of us" game. Aren't they cute?



And so here it is, the very first picture, ever, of the four of us, with some family members being more cooperative than others:



After Isaac tried to give Ella eye-splinters for only the fifty-millionth time, we decided it was time to go home. Luckily we had the wagon and we could pretend he might stay in it while Dada pulled.





Sorry, Ella and Ella's mommy and daddy. Maybe one day my son will quit his violent brand of flirtation with your precious and only offspring.

While mommy makes dinner

Witness the mommy-baby lovefest

I'm beside the camera speaking in tongues and smiling like a mental patient.

Mommy's mediocre attempts at Montessori

Since my Isaac is surely a genius, I am lately stepping up my efforts to introduce new ideas to him that he would surely encounter around preschool time. Note how I say "introduce" and not "force" or even "make up flash cards for". We are totally casual about things. But that Isaac has this unbelievable memory and also that he counts to 12 suggests to me that he might be open to, say, memorizing the names of the days of the week. Why not try? So far our attempts at this sound like:

Me (changing Jacob's diaper): Isaac, do you know what day today is?
Isaac: Mommy change Jake-Jake's diaper!
Me: It's Thursday. Can you say "Thursday"?
Isaac: Thurrrrrrr-day.
Me: GOOOOOOD!!! Do you know what tomorrow is? Tomorrow is Friday. Can you say "Friday"?
Isaac: Fwiiiii-day.
Me: GOOOOOD, buddy! Now, what day is today?
Isaac: (silence)
Me (whispering): it's thursday
Isaac: Thurday.
Me: And what day is tomorrow?
Isaac: CANDY STORE!

Yep. Remember, we're introducing concepts here. Since he is so good at recognizing and naming his shapes, I'm also trying to get him used to seeing his ABCs as discrete shapes, and possibly even learning their names. Whenever he sees letters, he pretends he's spelling them out -- he says, always, "Ay - Oh - See" and usually suggests that spells either "TOY STORY!!!" or "DADDY!!!" He gets the point, then, which I think is remarkable, that letters spell words. For some Sesame Street devotees, this comes as almost second nature; Isaac, however, is not the biggest fan. He digs Big Bird, Cookie Monster, and Journey to Ernie, will never sit through an entire episode. So instead he's learning his letters from watching me make letter shapes out of playdoh or drawing letters on the bathtub with our bathtub crayons. So far, I've stuck with the basics, A, B, and C.

Mommy: Isaac, what's this letter? (pointing to an "A")
Isaac (with almost bombastic excitement): That's an A!!!!!!
Mommy: GREAT job, buddy! Now what's this letter? (pointing to a "B")
Isaac (with identical enthusiasm): That's an A!!!!!

He'll get it. It's fun to think of what a blank slate he is, though sometimes he surprises us. Dada decided tonight, during their usual Daddy-Isaac bedtime conversation, to introduce Isaac to the concept of last names.

Daddy: Isaac, did you know that people have last names as well as first names?
Isaac: Yeah. Like "Dr. Modi".
Daddy (taken aback): Yes, exactly. Do you know what our last name is? It's "O'Neal".
Isaac: No-neel.
Daddy: Yes. So your name isn't just "Isaac," it's "Isaac O'Neal."
Isaac: Isaac No-neel.
Daddy: Yes. And did you know that Daddy is a doctor, too? Some people call Daddy "Dr. O'Neal", just like how Dr. Modi is "Dr. Modi".
Isaac: [insert sound of toddler mind-trip here]

My boys

Daddy loves you

Isaac and Daddy have enjoyed a new, special bond since the Boob Leech came along. When Mike is home, he often takes charge of playing with Isaac or taking Isaac places, like to Home Depot or music class, to give me some time alone with Jacob. He would probably switch it up and give each boy a turn on the Dad Train, except that he fears a Jacob meltdown in the absence of the milk-bags.

One major new addition to our schedule now, on a near-daily basis, is the Daddy-Isaac Movie Night. We used to have Family Movie Night on Saturdays, which involved popping a Disney movie in the DVD player at around 7:30. It was all a secret ploy to put Isaac to sleep, but it stopped working (i.e. he started actually watching the movies) and we stopped doing it for awhile. But now that Jacob is here, Mike and I are both waxed from a day of hard work by 7 or 7:30, and more often than not Mike will take Isaac downstairs, to our newly finished basement, and they will relax and watch a movie together. For awhile, it was all about Shrek 2. Isaac watched the entirety of this movie almost every night for a month. He's since expanded and prefers Toy Story, Monsters, Inc., or Robots.

[Now, before you write to me and berate me about how much TV my child watches, please try having two super little people and a husband who works 60+ hours a week yourself. Then be reassured by our new "no TV between breakfast and dinner" rule, and leave me alone.]

After movie time, it's off to bed for Isaac. He brushes his teeth, I try to read him a story, and then, more often than not, it's Mike nowadays who does the tucking in. Mike's told me what they do, their tuck-in routine: Mike asks Isaac how his day was. "Did you have fun?" he asks. "Yep-ee," says Isaac. They talk about what was accomplished. Then Mike says "Daddy loves you. Big hug" gives Isaac a big hug, wishes Isaac pleasant dreams, and leaves the room.

--------
At lunch time today, Isaac was pretty cranky, likely because he had flatly refused to eat. When I did sit him down by enticing him with such balanced fare as tortilla chips and yogurt, he asked "Lullabye, mommy?" [Translation: Please sing me Brahm's Lullabye in the vein of Aaron Neville on that one HBO special you TiVoed for me.] Because I don't know all the proper words to Brahm's Lullabye, I sing my stupid made-up mommy version that goes something like:

Lullabye...and good night...
Go to sleep, Little Isaac.
Mommy loves you,
Daddy loves you,
And it's time to go to sleep.

Except I don't get to the last line. Out of nowhere, as soon as I say "Daddy loves you," his precious little lower lip starts to quiver. Buckets, and I do mean BUCKETS, of tears flow freely forth as he starts bawling "DADDY LOVES YOU WAHHHHHHH BIG HUG WAHHHHHH" over and over, so much so that he is hiccuping, he is crying so hysterically. I try to reassure him that, yes, Daddy does love you. Daddy is at work, but we'll see him soon. Oh look, and Mommy loves you, too! How about a big hug from Mommy?

But, while the Mommy-hugs are accepted, they are clearly not of the same quality as Daddy-hugs. For a half-hour the nonstop whining: "DADDY LOVES YOU! BIG HUG WAHHHHHHHH". Finally I suggest we call Daddy and talk to him ourselves; this is met only with more pitiful "DADDY LOVES YOU BIG HUG WAHHHHH". So we went and bugged Daddy at his office to get our hugs straight from the source. This quelled the fuss-waves, and Isaac fell asleep on the ride home.

You can imagine how special this must make Daddy feel. I think he almost cried when we called him, if dudes can do that.

Do not operate heavy machinery while viewing the following picture

Hi, my name is Claire, and I'm a Jacob-aholic.

(Hi, Claire.)

I have a serious problem. I am in deep, all-consuming, drunken love with my baby. He is so gigantic that he throws out my back, but I can't put him down because his hair is so silky-soft on my cheeks and he's so warm and he gently closes his fist around my hair to hold on just like his monkey brother used to do. If I kiss his velvety, squooshy cheeks, he smiles. If I kiss his soft little tummy, he ah-goos and then smiles. Like this.



In the past two days, each of his enormous, jewellike blue eyes have become larger than his mouth, like he must be some kind of anime critter. I found out I can make him do a special baby trick, and I save it for when Isaac's napping so as not to be distracted. If I make baby sounds at Jacob, his eyes become even larger, if that's possible, and focus on me with an unbridled rapture; he vigorously stomps some invisible grapes with his silky feet; he opens and closes his mouth, like trying to rev up an engine; and he'll coo, ah-goo, mmm-buh, bbbbbppprrr-AH! right back at me, trying to echo what I've just said, like we're having a conversation. When he's in a good mood (i.e., rested and fed), he can do this for literally a half-hour, and I can't think of anything else, ever, that I'd rather do right now. Well, maybe playing hide-and-seek with Isaac, but my secret alone-time with Jacob, where he, my baby who is only two months old, TALKS to me... it's a powerful drug, that "falling in love" business.

Jacob's 2 month appointment

I took both boys with me to Dr. Modi's today. The oldest one was quite perturbed by this and insisted that he did NOT want to visit "Doctor Mooney's office", presumably still scarred from how horrible she was at his 2-year visit, putting her stethoscope all over him and how DARE we put him naked on that scale? But I told him over and over and over and over that this was Jacob's appointment and not his. He didn't actually get the idea until Dr. Modi came in and started poking on Jacob, and then he was more than happy to discuss with her Woody and Buzz and the activities in which they were engaged, as pictured on the posters on her walls.

Jacob is healthy as a horse, as expected. He has now scarfed down enough helpings at the boobie to weigh an ungodly 15 lbs 1-1/2 oz, and has grown lengthwise aNOther 2 inches to measure 25 1/2" in total. Both his height and weight are above the 95th percentile. Whereas with Isaac my in-laws accused me of tainting my breast milk with valium, since he was guaranteed to nod off at every feeding, I think this time around there must be some growth hormone slipping through the boobie filter. It's okay, really. His future NBA career is momma's lottery ticket outta here.

My poor baby got three shots today, his first DTaP, HiB, and PCV ones. He screamed. I pretended like my smothering his precious squooshy little face with kisses made him feel better. Dr. Modi flat-out insisted that I keep him doped up on Tylenol for the first 24 hours to help avoid soreness in his precious little leg-chub. No fevers or reactions of any kind yet, and both monsters are snoozing happily in their respective beds.

That's a first

While casually playing with Noah's Ark at the table after lunch...

Isaac: Mommy, I go poo-poo in the diaper.
Mommy: Well, would you rather go poo-poo on the potty?
Isaac: No, that's okay.