Those two dreaded words

Those two dreaded words

Potty Training.

There I said it.  Those of you who dove under the nearest table to hide, come back.  You, there in the corner, sucking your thumb, relax.  I am not going to ask any of you to partake in the fun necessary rite of passage that we parents get to have to endure.  I promise.  (Here’s a cup of coffee to make up for the fact that I sent you into your “scary place” by mentioning those two words.) Speaking of those two words, for those of you who got irritated by the fact that I used the word “training” instead of “teaching”, hate to break it to you, but every parent I know is training their child (and themselves) in this process.

I am not a big advocate of telling another mother how they should do something in regards to parenting.  Wait.  Let’s back up a second.  I should rephrase that.  I get incredibly irrate when any mother tells another mother (or to be more PC: any parent tells another parent) how they should be doing something when it comes to their parenting techniques.  If you are not interceding to prevent harm befalling a child, quite frankly you should butt out.  I don’t mean that suggestions and advice don’t have their place.  They do.  But not unsoliciated advice or suggestions and not in a “my way is the only way” manner.

For some reason, potty training falls into the category of Top 5 Things I Have Done Better Than You Have. (Regardless of who the “I” happens to be and who the “you” happens to be.) In fact, I read somewhere that Dr. Spock and Dr. Sears once had a fist fight over this very issue!* To say it is a hot-topic in parenting is like saying that discussing politicians during an election year is a probability.  (It falls under the DUH category!)

I have known people who will give you very graphic details of any (and every) sexual encounter they have ever had, yet will not talk about how old their child was when he was potty trained.  Apparently, it is something that can cause shame if not done at the “right age.” The reason for this is simple.  No matter when you did it, it just isn’t right.  Period.  It doesn’t matter if you are within a day of someone else.  You were either too early or too late.

I have known friends who bragged that their child was potty trained before he could walk.  “I would just sit him on the potty every hour and he would go.” (That was met with “He is too young.  You are the one being trained, not him.”) I have friends whose child was 4 and hated the potty.  (That of course was met with “He is too old.  You missed your golden opportunity.”) So, you would think that 3 is the right age.  Nope.  Two?  Nope.  It is like the lost city of Atlantis.  People are sure that perfect age exists, yet no one has ever seen it.

(I for one find nothing wrong with letting their college roommate deal with this if they haven’t master it yet.  I feel no shame. )

I have heard that there are children who one day decided that they are finished with diapers, march themselved into the bathroom to use the potty and never look back.  (I liken them to unicorns.  A beautiful, mystical creature that everyone wishes they could see for themselves because apparently they bring good luck.  And really, what is luckier than not having the go through potty training?  Not much, my friend.) However, seeing that my daughter has no real personal issues or moral objections to diapers or Pull-Ups, I decided that it is time that I take matters into my own hands.  (I don’t have one of these unicorn children, you see.)

I went through the inventory check-list before we began.  7,438 pairs of new Barbie, Strawberry Shortcake and Dora underwear? Check.  Three institutional sized cans of industrial strength carpet cleaner? Check.  Cute little potty attachment?  Check.  Potty Training for Dummies? Wait.  Do they really have that? Tequila for mom?  Check.  We are ready.

Day one went great.  I am proud to say I did not have one accident.  She, however, had 3.

Day two went great.  We are down to only 2 accidents.  (They were hers, not mine.)

We are now on Day (wait, let me check the tequila bottle to be sure) 5 and the accidents are random.  Therefore, I am proud to say that my darling daughter will not have to be potty trained by her college roommate.  (Her prom date, maybe, but that is an improvement. No?)

I am pretty sure she has the concept mastered.  I think that we are nearing the end of our potty training fun.  In fact, I am so sure of it that we are probably going to have an accident shortly. Because we all know that I just didn’t do it at the right time, did I?

*That is so not true.  Don’t you people know that when you read “I read somewhere that…” it is code for “I am making this up!”?


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