The Potty Police

I've come to accept that my role in life, since leaving the work force, has been primarily reduced to wiping, analyzing and disposing of the excrement of everyone in this house: cat, dog, baby and on occasion, husband. Hey, if he's got the stomach flu, he counts as a baby. But, the way things are going today, I'm considering cutting my workload.

Eddie, the dog, has taken to leaving his deposits at the base of Collin's play structure in the backyard. If that wasn't enough, he's also decided that peeing is only truly a relief if aimed directly on it or on Collin's picnic chairs. Apparently, trees just don't pack the same punch. So, aside from pooper-scooping the yard every day so my son can play poo-free in our yard, I'm now hosing off the grass and disinfecting a play structure.

I'm longing for the times when every other day, I cursed the cat for his ability to stink up the laundry room with one pile of clumpy litter and ruing the day that he was born. He's easily forgiven because he's warm and snugly and he purrs in my face five minutes before my alarm rings every morning.

Somehow, Eddie's love for Collin is making it hard to hate him too. His adoration for a toddler who chases him, pulls his tail and drapes his back with blankie in hopes it will serve as a saddle is immeasurable. I knew they'd be buddies when Collin, finally able to sit up for the first time, gained not only my prideful stares, but Eddie's begging gaze, as the dog began to realize that this former lump of a thing would soon be capable of the all-important task of petting him.

I just wish I didn't have to pick up after them all! Potty training...it's coming, right?