So last night, after the apple-cinnamon bar, after the horses, we pull in the garage. We go upstairs. I tell Kate I'm going to go get the mail, do you want to come with me? No. So I head outside.
By the time I'm back in, she's ripped off her pull-up, changed her pants for a skirt, and meets me at the door. "Going. outside. for. minute." What? I say. "Going. outside. just. minute."
She closes the door in my face, leaving me standing in the living room.
I look through the window, and she's pulling down her skirt. I decide to intervene, and open the door. "C'mon back inside. Let's go cook dinner!"
She comes back inside. I go to the kitchen, she goes to her play kitchen. Within a minute: "Uh, oh. Ucky." There's a puddle on the floor.
We go to the potty, and I sit her down. Nothing. "Not poopin'" she tells me. OK ...
She runs down the hall, wearing nothing but a shirt, and I chase after. We go to her room. I ask her if she wants a diaper or a pull up. "Diap" she says. I change her.
All of a sudden, she's pointing. "Poop. Monkey. Poop. Monkey." What?! She's pointing at the small nugget of poop that's on her monkey rug next to her crib.
"Kate!" I say. "Where did that poop come from?"
She points a finger at her diaper. Then she looks up at me and says, "My butt."