Thank you for your very important feedback. I have compiled the results (you know, for WORK. and SCIENCE.) and it turns out most of you move the potty seat or would move the potty seat, were you to be confronted with the potty seat. Also, a surprisingly high percentage of you were slightly mortified by the mere suggestion of NOT moving the potty seat. With the window of innocence shrinking every day here on the Internet, I'm always pleased when I manage to lob something through and gross y'all out.
That said, I'd LOVE to cross-reference these results with what percentage of you dainty dainty princesses are also seat-hoverers and/or foot-flushers in public restrooms (and who then, of course, refuse to wipe up the seat afterwards lest your hand possibly come in contact -- even through seven feet of balled-up toilet paper -- with a single drop of urine that IS NOT YOURS OMG). Because...yeah, I don't move the seat most of the time.
We have two of them -- one in "Noah's" bathroom upstairs and then one in our sole community bathroom on the first floor, and I used to move it, but...eh. I keep disinfecting wipes handy and Noah knows how to -- ahem -- aim straight down. Although really, getting grossed out by my own toddler's pee seems like a luxury I gave up a long time ago, around the time I learned exactly why you should always change newborn boy diapers with YOUR MOUTH CLOSED. And don't even get me started about our couch. You probably don't ever want to sit on our couch.
(Apologies to anyone who has ever sat on our couch.)
For now, Noah refuses to pee standing up, or on a little potty on the floor, or on the big potty sans THAT PARTICULAR BRAND AND SHAPE OF SEAT. (Baby Bjorn. Incredibly sturdy and devoid of any pinchable areas, and the splash guard is not nearly as prominently pointy as the photo suggested.) His long and inflexible list of potty requirements have led to a quiet desperation on my part -- this feeling like SOMEONE in this house needs to not give so much of a shit (figuratively speaking) about the State of Their Porcelain Throne. Plus, I'm pregnant. I don't get much lead time, you know?
Plus plus, pregnancy is gross, and makes you do all kinds of gross things, be it putting your butt on a plastic toddler seat or eating black olive and peanut-butter-filled pretzel salad for lunch.
SPEAKING OF PREGNANCY, OH YES, THAT
We've moved furniture, hung curtains, reorganized closets. We have new towel racks. The crib is set up. I bought new changing pad covers and found a second swing off Craigslist so I won't have to lug one up and down the million and two flights of stairs that are part of life out here in 70's-era suburban townhouse floorplan land. I still have to buy an Ergo carrier and a stroller (have reversed position completely, will likely be purchasing side-by-side Maclaren after all, turns out I cannot lift the Phil & Ted's stroller more than a foot off the ground for I am puny weakling) and we still don't really know where the baby will sleep at first -- turns out our plan to buy a king-sized bed and co-sleep was rooted in COMPLETE IGNORANCE as to how fucking expensive a king-sized mattress is, holy number-with-commas Batman. But at least I finally organized Noah's shoes and got rid of all his two-sizes-too-small socks.
So that's something.
Nine-ish weeks left to go. Hopefully enough time to redraft the will, set up college funds, rearrange the dining room furniture, wash 400 loads of baby clothes, and get a pedicure.