No, really ... it was!!! I swear Braden is going to grow up to be one of those adults who can only poop in his toilet at home. Like he'll probably drive home from work every afternoon to do his duty, or figure out some really great work from home job so he is close to the john.
Today we went to the park with my sis (yes, it was 61 degrees, hallelujah!) and he had to go number 2 (okay, I should just say poop, why am I trying to be all proper now?!?) No prob, there's a restroom right by the playground. As we are getting closer he starts telling me he doesn't really have to go anymore. Nice trying, even his eyes were turning brown at that point. Braden hates the park bathroom because they are silver and because the sound echoes making the flush reeeeeally loud. After promising to not flush until he was outside and promising that the toilet was nice even though it looked weird, I was able to get him inside. Ten minutes later (anxiety does not help speed things along) with me praying the whole time that no one else would come in and flush, he did his business. Thought we were good.
Got home and his tummy wasn't feeling well, so he climbed into my bed for a snuggle. I thought maybe he was tired out. About twenty minutes later I hear him whisper, "i did a poooh." I ask him to clarify and he tells me, "it's a big one." Oh greeeeat. I thought we were done with the accidents, but apparently not. It was bad. It was really bad. There was a lot of it. It made me cry. Literally. I think I thought if I sat there long enough someone would come in and clean it up for me. I even said (without thinking of course) "I don't want to clean this up." Braden says with a totally serious, concerned face, "Hmmmm, what are we going to do about that?" I put my mommy hat back on and took care of it. Let's just say, he won't be wearing those underwear again.
If only ...