“May My Toddler Use Your…Yard?” And Other Potty-Training Fiascos

“May My Toddler Use Your…Yard?” And Other Potty-Training Fiascos

I had read the e-books, the articles, asked for and listened to advice. I had purchased pretzel sticks, trail mix, 100% juice boxes, and organic gummies made from tapioca starch.

I had done everything but coordinate a celebratory potty dance.

But I felt that the movements would come naturally once I saw my little princess make a deposit in her miniature loo for the very first time.

Now, six days into potty-training, I realize I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Three days, the e-book said . . .

Three days and your child will know how to use the bathroom by herself!

So the first day, I remained optimistic.

Yes, she had accidents. Yes, I found myself chasing her around the house with the miniature toilet and then determined to stay calm no matter the extent of the Hansel and Gretel dribbles trailing around my kitchen.

(Which, FYI, staying calm while watching a naked baby do a potty-dance across the carpet is like trying to do yoga when you know a napalm bomb is about to explode.)

By the second day of potty-training, I would’ve rather gone through the first twelve hours of labor than to face another twelve-hour stretch, keeping my eyes honed in on my two-year-old’s backside.

But, by George, I did it.

I fed her raisins and a smoothie so chock-full of fiber, if I dumped out the Sippy cup, it would’ve stood up all by itself.

For entertainment, we fed water to the pee baby and squirted her fat rubber belly over the toilet, which Miss A loved.

I gave her a pedicure (my daughter, not the pee baby). We watched inspirational videos such as, “She’s a Super Dooper Pooper!” and I was appalled to find myself bobbing my head and singing along, gorging myself on the organic gummies that had cost about five dollars for a .2 oz. bag.

But somehow, the miniature toilet remained dry.

That night, my husband took a shift and declared—after steam mopping various sections of our hardwood floor and trying to sop up the carpet as best as he could—that it was time to put a diaper on the child.

“Fine!” I cried. “I’m going to bed and not getting up for a month!” I went into our darkened bedroom and threw myself across the mattress. Have I mentioned that I’m 18 weeks pregnant?

Two minutes later, my daughter pushed open the door and stretched her arms toward me. I pulled her up and nestled my face in the soft curve of her neck, redolent of that sweet toddler scent: cotton, fruit gummies, and milk.

Day Three, my daughter had an accident in her high chair and bellowed, “Oh, shoot!” If you think “Oh, shoot!” doesn’t sound like cussing, you should hear it coming from a toddler’s mouth.

Day Four, my husband saw my glazed eyes and declared that he was taking us to town, where we purchased a child’s insert for the regular toilet and more pretty panties for lil’ bit.

Day Five, my daughter zoomed around the house, flapping her arms and crying because she had to potty so badly but did not want to use her “yucky” toilet. In desperation, I picked her up and took her outside.

She plopped down and peed all over the stamped concrete entrance and cried some more. I picked her up and kissed her wet face, trying not to think of her wet legs wrapped around my stomach.

Today, Day Six, I carried the potty insert outside and asked Miss A if she’d like to use it. She waved at our dog in the backyard and then happily sat down and peed in her potty insert that was on the carport, but who–by this point–really cares?

So, if you don’t mind, pass the overpriced gummies and box juice….

Do you have any potty-training stories? Make this mama feel better and share! 🙂

For your enjoyment–though I warn you, it will get stuck in your head: