"P" is for "Potty-Trained."
Yes, indeed, Miss Paloma is potty-trained, and I take no credit.
I call it "Anti-Training," as in Mama sat around eating bon bons until Paloma decided for herself that she was ready. Sunday evening I brought home a new box of diapers. Paloma spied the baby on the box. "Is dat for babies?" she asked suspiciously.
"Oh yes," I replied. "Diapers are for babies. Big girls wear undies."
"Pona Cooz is a big girl," she said, looking serious.
And the girl meant business. Paloma decided she was potty trained, and now she is. No tears (from either of us), no fights, no coercing, no work. Granted, she waited until she was nearly 3, but I gladly bought diapers for a few extra months instead of making both of us miserable trying to potty train a kid who was not intersted.
Thus far, not a single accident to report (although I don't expect that record to hold).
I just love that letter P!