Dave just trounced down the stairs triumphantly holding the Baby Bjorn potty above his head. He nodded with a glint in his eye.
"Did he just poop in the potty?" I asked.
No words. Just a grin.
"Really? He pooped in the potty? What happened?" I am not sure why I asked that last question. Dave launched into a story that started with "practice grunts" and ended with a "good sized poop."
"And you brought the potty down so I could inspect the poop?"
He looked a bit uncomfortable. A look passed across his face as if it was the first time he realized that this might be a bit strange. In my pregnant state, I can barely stay in the room if their is a trace of toot. Not that if I wasn't pregnant, I would want to pass judgment on the scat. He quickly retreated into the kitchen with the pooped in potty.
I eventually followed to size up the scene. I found Dave tying up the poop in a Target bag and setting it in our kitchen trash.
"Um...you could have just dumped it into the toilet."
Another sheepish look crossed his face. "I didn't think of that."