First, we celebrated the Festa dell'Immacolata (Feast of the Immaculate Conception of Mary) with panettone and hot chocolate (in the truly Italian style) and we managed to put the tree up with the red and yellow balls that we bought last year (last year, I had to hide them from Tronk to stop him from building a tower of broken pieces in the dining room). This year, the decorations, which were in a plastic bag on the dining table early this morning, sort of disappeared. Where could they have gone in such short amount of time? I searched in our bedrooms, in the living room, in the office. I didn't know where else to look but John had no problems finding them. They were hanging on the tree nicely, with Tronk proudly looking at them! I couldn't believe he did it all by himself.
We wrote Christmas cards, which Tronk was able to sign with the help of John who was spelling each letter for him, we wrapped a few gifts (the ones that survived one year of Tronk's thorough explorations around the house), and I even managed to successfully bid the minimum amount set for a beautifully carved Italian presepe (nativity), which we'll probably have in our house a week before Christmas. Exciting, but still not enough to make the day special.
What made yesterday so special is a gift, an early Christmas gift I received from Tronk. I can now say (I think I can) that Tronk is almost (I'll better say almost) POTTY, YES, I MEAN... POTTY TRAINED. Yes, we are (almost) there.
"Adesso sono un bimbo grande. Diamo il tavolo del cambio ai bimbi piccoli!" (I am a big boy now. We must give the changing table to the small kids!), these are the exact words he said.
I know this means that William is no longer, for any sustainable reasons, a baby, I know, but hey, no more unpleasant surprises in the dining room and "no more changing tables" or at least that's what Tronk uttered with conviction today (we removed the changing table from his room!), no more days spent at home in the least appealing room of the house, no more time spent waiting for the damned thing to happen, no more diapers, pull-ups, swimmers, special pads, training pants (or whatever names you wanna give them) coming out of my bag, no more begging. I am relieved.
Tronk, please tell me that this is my Christmas gift this year and that you won't change mind. You can do it. Two years ago, few days before Christmas, you started walking. Remember?