The Amethyst Incident
.
A friend of mine is potty training her daughter. When her daughter successfully dumped her first load, the mommy blogged about it. (Seriously, who wouldn't? That's a big deal. It's one tiny step toward adulthood. And while the rest of the world may not care; to us parents it's the equivalent of sending them off to college or something.)
In honor of the potty related achievements of children worldwide, I give you:

The Amethyst Incident

Potty ritual was a pretty straightforward thing in our household. Use the chair while mom sits on the floor and reads you a book. Fill the chair with as many wet wipes as you can get away with while mom lectures you on ecology. Empty the chair. Rinse it in the sink. Wash hands then exit the bathroom quickly while mom re-cleans the potty.

That getting out of the bathroom and back to your toys is a pretty crucial step, because if you stick around mom might make you use soap on the potty basin. So whoosh, out the door you go. Every single time.
Except this time.
This time you decide to snag the sparkly tumbled amethyst that sits on the sink and stuff it in your mouth. You grin in triumph as the amethyst goes down.

Your little magic trick is ruined when mom says, "Well now it's gone. Isn't it?!?"

The look of contrition on your face about breaks your mother's heart, so she says, "It's ok honey. All Things Pass." (How does she make her words sound big like that?) "You'll poop it out in a few days." That sounds do-able to you, and you go off to find some toys.

...After spending some time on the phone, mom tells you, "The doctor says we'll have to watch your poop very carefully for a few days to make sure it passes. But I wouldn't worry too much. Because really -All Things Pass." (There it is again, making little words BIG without shouting)
And sure enough, in a little over a day, the amethyst reappeared. Which was kind of a shame because watching mom dissect your bowel movements with a butter knife was pretty neat.

You never knew how carefully your mom watched you during those 35 hours or so. You never knew that she felt your head during every nap, praying that there wouldn't be fever. And you never knew how often she doubted her Big Words, and wondered "What if this Thing doesn't Pass?"
Because that's what moms do.