If you clicked on the title, hoping for an uplifting story about God’s saving grace, you may be disappointed. Just sayin’.
Today began Day 1 of Potty Training. Or hell on earth, as I affectionately regard it. A day I’ve lived in fear and dread of. Why the urgency? I have to face Jensen’s doctor on Wednesday.
Last month, we went to see this miracle doctor for the first time. When he caught sight of my 5 foot 4, three year old in a diaper, he did not mince words. “He should be potty trained.”
“ARE YOU INSANE? YOU’VE JUST TOLD ME THAT I HAVE TO TAKE AWAY ALL THE FOOD HE DEARLY LOVES, AND THE BRIBE OF A HAPPY MEAL AFTER THIS EXPENSIVE VISIT IS OUT THE WINDOW. AND YOU WANT ME TO POTTY TRAIN HIM ON TOP OF ALL THE UPHEAVAL WE’RE ABOUT TO ENDURE?” I screamed at him.
In my head.
In reality, I smiled, and nodded, “Yes indeed, I need to work on that. We can’t wait.”
And I make a mental note to put the kid in pull-ups next visit to at least give the impression that I’m worthy of motherhood.
Jensen has shown no interest in potty training. Except that the toilet is a fascinating place to float toys. And occasionally sniff the seat. Just to see Mommy’s reaction. And the flushing. YES! That would provide hours of entertainment, should Mommy allow it. The bathroom is a veritable cornucopia of unending amusement.
Reason # 231 why I still employ the use of 5 baby gates. (He has acquired the skill of dismantling all of them, but at least it slows him down. Somewhat.)
I presented his big boy underwear to him. He had a wide array of superhero fashions to chose from. He went with Bob the Builder.
Bob lasted about 10 minutes.
Then I tried a new approach. I had a pair of boxers that were a miniature version of those which belong to his favorite superhero, Fiddledaddy. Pay dirt.
I set the timer for 20 minutes, for a visit to the potty. All day long. To the point that I’m still hearing the “DING” in my head, long after the little soldier has trooped off to bed. I also hung a poster on the bathroom door with the promise of A STICKER EVERY TIME YOU GO POOPOO OR PEEPEE.
This intrigued him. He attempted a variety of ways to negotiate the potty. I tell you. Girls are easy. Potty training boys, with all their extra equipment, is not a job for the faint of heart.
For sport, he tried facing the back of the toilet, then side saddle, followed by “the dip”, and then ending with the way I told him 400 times to do it in the first place.
Mommy’s voice ECHOES in the bathroom when she’s excited. That’s so much fun.
By days end, he accumulated 6 stickers. And only had one accident. He did manage to pee on my foot, but that didn’t count because he was on the toilet. Facing the correct direction.
I think he did very well. And I should be congratulated for not consuming any cocktails. Round 2 begins tomorrow. If you moms of boys have any sage advice on potty training (or a fun filled potty story just to make me feel better), please share it with me now. I have a feeling I’ve just boarded a runaway train that I’m powerless to stop.