Poo-Poo Genius

S, in one of his many active moments.

Though I simultaneously grit my teeth and dry heave at saying this, potty training does have its upsides. (Have fun with that one, you Punsters. You know who you are.) Such as:

S and I had a little bathroom potty time last week after he failed to do the dirty where we'd really like him to. He's been in training pants and rubber pants consistently for the last few weeks, basically after Papa and I both realized 1) he was consistently dry for parts of days anyway, basically when we remembered to take him to the bathroom, and 2) we were tired of buying changing buying and changing diapers for a practically potty-trained toddler. Anyway, since we've done this before, we're not so hard-core about it (i.e. "If he's potty-trained, it means he'll tell us when he has to go and never, ever, ever have another accident. EVER!" This is like saying about a beginning reader: "If he's reading, then he'll read independently and never, ever, ever need any other help with letters or words. EVER!" But I digress.). So S does his dirty and we have little conversations, which turn out to be classic little moments. Like:

Me: So who's the boss in our family?

S: I'm the boss... (trailing off, then looking me in the eye) Mommy boss.

Me, pleasantly surprised: You're right! And who's the main boss in our family?

S: Boss, boss, boss... (thinking hard) Boston town.

Me, not getting it: Right, Boston town. But who's the main boss, S?

S: BOSS-ton town.

Me, finally getting it: BOSS-ton town. Boston town! (quickly thinking of all the metaphorical applications I've missed over never hearing this linguistic connection, then returning to the toddler) Like in the song--"Trot, trot, to Boston town, to get a stick of candy"!

S, grinning: Yeah.

And the really amazing and kind of scary thing about this? S has been making these kind of observations a lot lately. Like two weeks ago, when we went for an interview for an observational study he's a part of (I signed up for it for the free diapers--we got C's size this time--and the Target gift cards we get in "thanks" for showing off our brilliant kid. Plus, I get to spend time with S alone, which rarely happens at length). There, he did a few incredible things in front of Luke and Libby, like:

• Telling me "Mommy, I get down. Right NOW! Please." when he got bored with a video. Libby told me, "I've seen kids his age pitch fits, but I've never heard them ask to get down, let alone use manners."
• Upon pretending with a bear and a plate, cup, and spoon, and asked what he would do if the bear was thirsty, picking up the cup with a big smile and saying, "Give him some COFFEE!"
• Listening to directions very closely, like when he was already swinging his arm to knock down a stack of blocks he'd built and Luke said, "No." He immediately dropped his arm. No, he doesn't usually do that at home.
• Putting together a three-piece rattle together with no verbal directions an hour after he'd watched Luke do the same thing. And he did it three times with different pieces than Luke had used.
• When asked to identify pictures, saying, "Cookie" for a picture of a cookie, "Bear" for a bear, and "Cow" for a horse. Okay, he needs some work. 
• When asked which child in the picture had the most, pointing to a boy and saying, "He's got a lot of M & M's." (The stacks in front of the pictured kids were little, round, colored balls. Kind of like...)

I honestly was so moved--and, frankly, overwhelmed--by what S did and said at the interview, I had tears in my eyes. There's nothing quite so humbling as realizing there's no possible way your self-perceived brilliance could have turned out like this in your kid. Truly, only God can create minds like this.

Of course, that also means He creates... well, potty-training doesn't last forever. And I guess I'll take with it what comes.

After all, S will only be two at the end of April.

"Take my picture, too, Mommy." And here's my thumb.