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The other night, Peter heard William rustling around in his crib. The rustling turned to cries, and the cries didn’t cease. He finally went upstairs to discover William naked. “I tinkled on my pillow.” 
It’s happened twice since then. So we’re starting the potty-training journey for the second time, just weeks after we considered Penny’s situation “substantially complete” (it’s a term contractors use when building a house. It means you can live in the house, but they’ll still be fixing stuff for a while). 
Anyway, potty training has been on my mind, so I wrote about it for Bloom: Parenting Kids with Disabilities. My post over there begins: 
I was all set to write a victorious essay about how we had crossed the final potty-training hurdle. Seven days without an accident, even at night. No more Pull-ups, no more rubber underpants, no more carseat cushions in the washing machine, no more worries about our daughter sitting on the couch without a towel underneath her. Two years after we first started working on it, I thought we were done.
And then, Penny visited my grandmother and when she got up, there was a wet spot on the chair. And then, when we were outside this afternoon she looked at me, eyes wide: “Tinkle accident Mom!”

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