Don't Mistake the Bathroom for the Bedroom

Daddy, I have to poop.

The first time, I believed her.

We were laying in her bed, a twin-sized trundle bed extended from her brother's full sized bed which sits under a twin-sized bunk bed.

I purchased the mattress last week and the bedding this weekend. It was all made up, bright colors and familiar stuffed animals. She was armed with her new Cinderella pillow.

Noooo! No nap!

Damn.

After calming her, we read 4 stories and sang three songs. Daddy, I have to poop.

We went to the bathroom across the hall. She peed. Denied having to poop. Back to bed.

Sang another song, then made a move for the door.

Screaming. I didn't break stride and closed the door behind me. Five minutes later, she opened the door. I met her. Daddy, I have to poop.

This time, I was skeptical. But we're in the middle of potty training and semi-successfully at that. (Much better than with JD.)

A little pee (no poop,) back to bed. A little screaming. Five minutes later, we met again at the second story landing. Daddy, I have to poop.

No, you don't, I replied. Back to bed. More screaming.

Ten minutes later, we meet again. By this time, we have to leave in 45 minutes to go to JD's speech therapy class, so it would cause more harm if she did actually fall asleep, only to be woken up minutes later to be transferred to the car.

I am writing this from my Motorola Droid phone in the parking lot at the produce market, waiting for Toodles to wake up so we can go buy granny smith apples for $0.98/lb. for Wife.

Oh, and it's 95 degrees outside, so I have had the car running with the A/C on for almost an hour. I didn't figure $10 worth of gas into the bed budget. Lesson: always tack on at least 10% to any improvement project.