Carter turned 3 in January which means it’s time to get real and then serious about potty training. Let’s be honest though, I’m barely potty trained myself so I’m hardly qualified to teach someone else how to use the toilet. My pediatrician told me there are 3 things you can never force a kid to do: eat, sleep, or potty train. Oh. Okay. So basically the 3 things that are the most maddening as parents? Cool. Cool.

We went the quick and dirty route with Deklan spending a weekend holed up inside chasing a pantless toddler around with a roll of paper towel like  zoo keepers tending to a caged animal. 24 hours in and he was complaining of a stomach ache but still refusing to poop on the toilet. I’ve heard horror stories of kids holding in their poo so I was about to give up when I decided to dust off the plastic portable potty and bring it out into the middle of the living room. Word to the wise, mom of boys, unless janitorial duties are your thing, skip buying one of those things and just set them backwards on the toilet. It forces them to lean forward enough so their pee goes INTO the toilet and not all around it. Learned that one from my mama. Anyway, there we were in the middle of the living room with Chris and I kneeled on each side of Deklan holding hands singing along to the Hot Dog Song on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Eventually he pooped and we celebrated like he had just graduated from high school with honors or something. As soon as he was finished he stood up and ran off to play leaving me staring at a giant turd in a plastic toilet positioned in the middle of my living room that I now had to dispose of. I didn’t sign up for this.

There are obvious advantages to having a potty trained child, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not like the butt wiping ends when the diapers come off so I can’t help but ask myself what the rush is? Also, let’s not forget how inconvenient it is to find a toilet when they finally decide they have to pee even though you asked them before you left the house… and then again before you left the store. Adamant they don’t have to go until we are about to drive away and then without fail they announce with a great deal of urgency that they have to pee. *sigh* So I do what any dignified parent would do and open the passenger side doors and let him pee in the parking lot between them. It seems like a good idea at the time until he starts to pee. “Don’t get it on your pants! Don’t get it on my pants! It’s on my pants! Point it over there! No over there!” No one is safe when in the vacinity of an inexperienced urinator.

The shot clock is on until the Disney Cruise so we really do need to get on with this if we plan to take full advantage of the Kid’s Club. I’ve basically resorted to shaming Carter into potty training by telling him he won’t be able to hang out with Mickey if he isn’t going on the potty by the time we leave. He looked at me with his finger pointed in my face and said, “I’ll potty train YOU!” I can recognize the smell of defeat so I’m on to plan C: bring a pile of underwear and extra pants to daycare on Monday and outsource the whole thing because this shit is for the birds.

Whatever it takes…

Amy