every morning. . .

that little Luke waits until the very last minute to go potty. . . Which I cannot complain about, because he has been going like a champ. . .

But he holds it for an hour. . . bouncing around until he just can't hold it anymore. . .

And, don't dare ask him if he has to go. I no need potty, Mama! he growls in his very best Darth Vadar voice (did I mention it's all about Star Wars these days?).

But, he goes like a champ. (Let me tell you, potty training has been so much better this time around). And then we go upstairs. Together.

Wait por me, Mama. (No, he's not Spanish. . . somehow, all of his little f's sound like p's these days. . .I thought it was the whole stuffy. . .puffy. . .nose thing. . .but not so sure now. . .).

And we trudge up the stairs, with something. Ususally, it's the buggy. Today, the buggy happened to still be in his bedroom (how on earth did we get downstairs this morning without it?). . . So it was the signs. Not the little signs. The big guys. . .

all three of them. . .

Can you guess who carried them?
. . . .And the full potty bowl?

I get some signs, Mama.
Wait, Mama!
You carry sign.
You carry rail crossing.
I carry stop. (And yet, that one doesn't come out pop. . . ? )

Did they ever tell you Motherhood is a balancing act?

Is this what they meant?