Strange sounds emanated from the bathroom and I hesitated for a moment before asking C what she was up to. A fleeting memory of toys in the toilet motivated me to call out.

“C? What are you doing in there?”
“I telling the pipi to come out into the potty.”
“Oh.” I imagined that she was sitting on the potty, fully dressed, as was the norm. Little L’s suck slowed and I decided that I should go check out what was happening in our little lime green bathroom, just in case.

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw; C, on her little potty, jeans around her ankles, diaper discarded on the floor, magazine on her lap. She’d even taken her socks off for good measure. She was looking down and murmuring “come out pipi, come out!”

My first inclination was to turn around quietly and go get the camera. Then I realized that I’d never be able to post the picture online, so why bother? So instead I sat down on the side of the tub and chatted with C as she waited for the pipi to come out. It never did. Or rather, she got bored before it ever had a chance. Then she tried to put her own diaper on. Backwards. Which prompted me to go find the pull-ups that a friend donated to the cause when her son outgrew the need for them. Cars pull-ups.

“Mammy. I put on dis underwear den I be a boy!” She said, beaming at me, so proud to be wearing a big kid diaper. “Den I be a boy!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it doesn’t exactly work like that.