This morning, I received what I thought was a Fear Phone Call.
In the days way, way, way back, pre-Dictator that is, The Fear Phone call was a call made to friends, or received from friends, after a night of drunken stupidity.
At 11 a.m. this morning, my cell phone started to vibrate. I glanced at the number, like I always do before picking up, only to see the call was being made from my house. Except I wasn't at home.
Which either meant that someone who had my very personal phone number had broken into my house. Or that it was Nanny Mimi.
Now that I'm a mother, I have that full-fledge paranoia thing happening. Any ring after 10 p.m. means bad news. Any call from the house in the middle of the day to my cell phone = bad news.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" I immediately said into the phone. I had The Fear.
"Rowan just pooed in the potty!" Nanny Mimi said, in the same excited tone she used when she told me, three weeks ago, that her boyfriend proposed.
That was the first time The Dictator had done that. Of course, it warranted a call. Of course, she'll be getting a present. Of course, it was the most exciting news since I learned that Rock Star was being filmed again.
We've been pretty relaxed about the whole toilet-training thing. The Fiance ordered a book from Amazon, called, "How To Potty Train Your Child in 26 seconds," or something like that. And that's pretty much where we've stopped.
My main problem with these types of books - and, truthfully, I have heard they work - is that it would take me five weeks to read two hundred pages. And these books are always two hundred pages. If I'm reading anything aside from Goodnight Moon, it won't be a bible on toilet training.
The fact is, you rarely see 12 year-olds walking around in diapers. So, obviously, every child eventually learns how to go on "the potty" one way or another.
Speaking of potty, I've been wondering what are appropriate words for toddlers when it comes to going to the washroom. I use the 'S' word as much as anyone - though a lot less in the last two years - but I don't exactly want to hear that word out of The Dictator's mouth.
Yesterday, The Dictator pointed at my chest and said, "Big boobs." Then The Dictator pointed at her own chest and said, "Little boobs."
It wasn't a big deal. She went through all the body parts like that. "Mommy big hands. Rowan little hands. Mommy big feet. Rowan little feet." And on and on.