The Princess Potty - Part I. Also Part Final.

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Some days Karma is in your favor.  You know, like when I won the lottery.

But other days, there's a hurried rapping on your front door and you rush to open it because in the back of your mind there's a chance that your high school boyfriend sent you flowers.  That's what I always think, anyway.  Except insert the word "imaginary" before high school.  Anyhoo, when you open the door you are shocked to see it's actually Karma, naked, throwing open his rain coat and violently whirlybirding on your stoop as your horrified neighbors look on.

That's the Karma I've known lately.  In the past week...

1.  Nick drove off with my car keys on his trunk.  When later questioned about the whereabouts of my car keys he answered, "well I saw them on my trunk when I was putting the kids in the car, but I figured you'd take them off before I left."  Apparently I was supposed to have done that somewhere in the six second time span it takes him to put our children in their car seats and walk to the driver's seat and start the car.  While I was inside taking a nap. 

2.  Someone stole my granola bar out of the stroller while we rode the train at the zoo.  And I'm not talking about some cheap-o, second rate granola bar.  That thing was frosting topped and it was supposed to give me the energy not to faint while pushing a double stroller up a big hill.  It was sitting in the compartment next to my Blackberry, which I would have gladly traded for a snack as I contemplated whose ass I could kick on the way out if only I had the strength.

3.  Someone stole one of Ellie's sandals at the pool.  It's not so much the sandal itself, though if given the choice I would have much preferred them to take both so I don't have the daily reminder of carrying a 30-pounder in one arm and a 22-pounder in the other arm the length of a football field while toting this little ole thing


staring me in the face every morning as the lone sandal sits on the counter sadly waiting the return of its mate. 

So when my instincts politely asked me to postpone potty training until my luck and general attitude toward life hits an uptick I told them to butt out like I usually do. 

I am a schedule person.  The day my girls turned four months old I gave them cereal.  The day they turned six I gave them baby food.  On Ellie's first birthday I took the bottle out of her mouth, gave her a pair of tennis shoes and told her to keep up.  So, naturally, when she turned two it was time to stop pooping her pants.

One would think that if given the choice any civilized human being would prefer to shed their waste in a toilet, where the most minimal amount actually touches the skin.  But I think the invention of the Stadium Pal - whose slogan is "When you gotta go but you wanna stay" - puts the general attitude toward soiling oneself into perspective. 

Why would anyone choose to take time out of their busy day stacking blocks or throwing fits to sit on a boring toilet?  Even if it is covered in princesses and has a rhinestone flusher.

So the more I read and talked to my Mom, who, by the way, reminded me five times in a 20-minute phone conversation that she had me potty trained by 18 months, I learned that the only way to make this happen is to just dive in and put her in some underwear.

Let me just say that the thought of putting a little person, who has expelled the most rotten of all the foul raunchiness you would swear is from Satan himself in her diaper, into nothing but a pair of underwear and setting her loose around my home goes against every moral fiber of my being.

I apologized to Dora as I took her smiling face out of the package and told her this was not going to end well for either of us.  Then I set the microwave timer to 15 minutes, and Ellie and I walked into the playroom and just sort of stared at each other.

Then she got on the couch.

"No no no!  Not on the couch!" I screamed, startling her.  "Why don't we go stand in the bathtub for the next nine minutes?  Fun!  Or, even better, want to go play on the deck?  I'll just be watching you from the couch in this air conditioned room.  And you could even sweep up while you're out there!  What a lucky girl!"

She responded to my suggestion by peeing all over the carpet.  And some books.  And some blocks.  I'd be lying if I said that wasn't one of the creepier moments of my life - someone maintaining direct eye contact with me while urine runs down their leg. 

Of course by the time I rushed her into the princess potty there was nothing left in her bladder and poor Dora was over in the corner looking around for a knife so she could repeatedly stab herself in the face.

Repeat scenario countless times over three days substituting carpet, books and blocks with my leg, Nick's leg, couch and... well... just about everything. 

I guess I'm just a little confused about how this is better than diapers.  With diapers I have the freedom to change her at my convenience.  I don't have to clean up pee five times a day.  Our house does not smell like a stable. 

This whole thing is starting to evoke the same feelings of parental failure I had with breastfeeding.  Which I handled like a champ by crying and quitting.        




  

 

6 comments:

Singedwingangel said...

Yikes. I had boys and apparently they were so much easier, cause they get to aim with their's. Umm but the poop part was much harder. Here is sending you good vibes to relax and let her feel out the potty herself. I promise it will be before she is 3

Hannah said...

At this point I'd be happy as long as it's before she leaves for college.

Veronica said...

My daughter mastered pooping on the potty around two ONLY BECAUSE she was sick and had swamp ass for two days and was so terrified by the feeling of it in her diaper (and probably my face every time I cleaned her) that she scared herself straight and never pooped in her pants again. As for the pee, we've only just mastered that (used loosely) more than a year later but only during the day. And sometimes she waits so long to go because she's busy playing that she makes it to the front of the toilet and, "Oops, I peed on the floor mom! My pants got stuck!"
God speed!

Veronica said...

P.S. I f*ing hate those people who talk about their 12 or 18 month old who was potty trained in a weekend AND their condescending stares as you buy more pull ups for your three-year-old. It's like telling me they delivered their baby in two hours in two pushes with no meds after I've just told them mine took 23 hours of labor and two hours of pushing. Everyone is different.

Hannah said...

Yeah, I'm pretty sure my Mom was lying about that whole "I had you potty trained by 18 months" thing. Just another one of her strategies to try to weasel a good Mother's Day present out of me.

Kitty said...

Big fan of Pull-Ups myself... :-)