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Clara Jane and I spent yet another day at Hartford, because it's January and what the hell is there to do? Well, we went to the library, too. Not the branch where they're wicked to me. So, we can hang out at home, go to the library, or hang out at the coffeehouse. We both prefer the latter two options.

Just this morning, before we left, I was telling my mom how Clara Jane's making progress in the potty training. "I can't remember the last time she pooped in public," I told her. Instead, exactly fifteen minutes after we get home, she poops.

Yeah, I know. I'm walking into perilous mommmy-blog territory. Bear with me. There's a digression from poop.

Nearly-three is a weird age. She's making the transition from playing in the presence of other kids to actively trying to engage with them. She swings wildly between her father's bone-crushing shyness and her mother's overpowering gregariousness. I've caught myself worrying about this, even though it's not something I want to worry about. I never, ever want to pressure her in this area. I just want her to be comfortable with who she is. And yet, I can't tell you how relieved I was a few weeks ago when she started talking about one of the girls in her daycare class. "I play with L. She talks to me. L. is my friend!"

L.'s mom shared my relief, as I learned in the parking lot after we dropped off our girls a few weeks ago. She'd been equally nervous that L. wasn't engaging with the other kids. Turns out, our kids already have active social lives we know absolutely nothing about. Yeah, we're off to a great start. I bet we'll be surprised with they knock over their first liquor store in 13 years.

Anyway, poop.

Today, at the coffeehouse, Clara Jane hooked up with another little girl. We've seen her before, but the girls never paid much attention to each other. Today, though, they hit it off in a big way. Much noise, and much shared little girl giggling. I didn't get involved, and neither did the other girl's father. He seems to dump her into the play area and go about his business without paying her much mind. The girls simply took it upon themselves to engage, and it was a lovely thing to watch, as a mom, this first venture into society without my direct guidance.

When both girls ran past, I caught a wiff of two seperate varieties of poop. As my mom told me later, "You know how women who are around each other get their cycles synched? Well..." Apparently with three-years-old, their poop schedules do the same.

Since she never poops in public, of course I didn't have a diaper/Pull-Up/pair of training pants with me. I figured I'd take her to the bathroom, dump the contents of the diaper, clean her up and we'd make do.

My lord. Did Clara Jane's new friend pour a quart of chocolate pudding into my kid's diaper when I wasn't looking? What the hell just happened in your pants, Child?

Next time we go to the coffeehouse - assuming they let us back in - I'm leaving a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar to compensate for the nightmare we left in the diaper pail.

Not only has Clara Jane ventured into the world of making her own social life, she's also ventured into the world of going commando. The entire diaper, not just the contents, were left behind, and Clara Jane learned the free and breezy feeling of the cool January breeze blowing through her chinos.

I'm going to carry diapers until she and L. and her new friend J. wind up in poopy juvie together.