One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure (Or Finn Turns 3)

The boy is obsessed with garbage trucks.  He can spot one from a mile away and screams with delight so that all within a mile radius can celebrate with him.

He wants to drive garbage trucks, play with garbage trucks, read about garbage trucks, and wear garbage trucks.

3 years old may prove to be the "terrible" phase that he skimmed over at 2.  Because not only does he scream for garbage trucks, he screams for a lot of things.  He is intense.  And he is emotional.  And he is a scaredy cat. I've started to think that his reality receptors can't keep up with his imagination generators.  Therefore, he is frightened of so many things.  He's also suffering from separation anxiety.  Which means he hasn't gone to nursery for months and basically makes Sunday the very worst day of the week.  (Though Jack just had his first week of nursery and did great, knock on wood) So maybe we'll just have one crying baby in the halls for 2 hours instead of two.

He is super sweet and so cute and animated and that is a very good thing because it saves his tiny bottom daily.

About 2 weeks before his birthday, he asked to sit on the potty and managed to squeeze out the tiniest drops of pee.

 I figured he'd walk away and forget about it, and maybe in 4 months remember and do it again.  But little did I know, he wouldn't forget.  Not only would he not forget, he would remember every time he had to go to the bathroom.  In about a week he was solid.  I worried that our 8 hour drive to Utah would stunt his momentum, especially after he
declined to go in the gas station bathroom.  But nope, he literally held it for 8 hours. And about 2 weeks after that I stopped being lazy (and the diaper tabs actually stop sticking if you open and close them enough) and I decided he should probably wear underwear.  And he hasn't had one accident.

I'm all for waiting until a kid is ready to start potty training.  That has worked well for us.  But apparently I've never had a kid quite this ready.  I literally just helped him with his pants when he told me it was time.

And then we decided it was probably time to ditch the paci (at least during the day).

 This was a very daunting idea (see the part about screaming, above).  But his poor little natural overbite was only getting more pronounced and heaven forbid he learn some self soothing skills.  So we plucked up the courage and went for it.  As is common, the anticipation was almost worse than the actual event.  He had a couple hard days, but through his tears would remind himself,

"We can't use our paci's anymore bekuss they hurts our teefs!"


Now if we can only knock the "ba-ba".