Precocious little thing that she is, Abby has recently discerned the potential benefits of shifting blame.
I've mentioned here and there for weeks now how we've been riding a pendulum of sorts regarding potty training readiness: is she? Isn't she? Is she?
We're pretty firmly stick in isn't right now, as she tries to evade every impending diaper change, even while jabbering on about potty-related things. So, this morning, when I caught a whiff of that all-too-familiar aroma, I said aloud, "Somebody pooped. Which one of you was it?"
"Michael." Abby said, rather cagily.
Now, it's sometimes hard to tell who the culprit is by smell alone when both children are in close proximity to me, but they were each halfway across the room. While Michael's poops have gotten pretty smelly in recent days, he still doesn't have quite the capability that Abby does of making such a malodorous impact over such a large surface area.
Plus, Abby was looking and acting rather suspicious.
"Are you sure it was Michael?" I pressed. "Can I check?"
"Abby, I think I should check."
She made a halfhearted attempt to scoot away from me, but I grabbed her by the back of the pants anyway and took a gander at the contents of her diaper. My suspicions were confirmed. As I scooped her up on to the changing table, she kept a firm hold of the doll that she'd been playing with, a little baby girl that she's named Daisy. Even as I made a move to pull her pants off, she insisted that she was not guilty, and in a last-ditch attempt to break free of the blame, she cried, "Daisy pooped!"
"Silly girl," I said. "Daisy can't poop. She's a doll."