A day of potty training should absolutely open with the Serenity Prayer. But first you have to remind yourself that there are going to be darn few things you CAN change about today. Just surrender to your higher power because you are NOT in charge.
Let me add, before I go any farther, that I am not one of those moms who posts photos of the contents of her kid’s potty on her Facebook page like she thinks anyone cares. I know nobody is interested. Heck, I’m not interested. All I’m interested in is never buying another doggone diaper.
But there is no denying that “potty training”- a term which has fallen out of favor in some circles, but which we prefer because our kid thinks there is a literal Potty Train and that he’ll get to see it if he uses the potty (“Where’s the Potty Train, Mommy?”)- says something powerful and true about the human condition.
Chasing my kid’s naked bum around with a Frog Potty is ludicrous, but also symbolic of all the other times I’ll hover in preparation for letting go.
Ironically, after months of hearing Ian scream that he wanted his underpants with his “diaper first” prompted weeks of joking that we should just tell Ian there were no more diapers, I arrived at Target to discover that there truly were no more size six “kohl-kohl diapers.” You wouldn’t think that anyone’s world would come screeching to a halt just because Target was out of generic diapers in size 6, but since Ian has for months steadfastly refused to contemplate anything other than those blue and green polka dots, and also since he was actually wearing the last one we owned, this was an issue. (Mind you, we were not out of diapers altogether, since we still had a good half pack of assorted Pampers and Huggies he refused to wear once he’d met the Polka Dot. Mickey, Minnie, Elmo, and Big Bird had languished unappreciated ever since. Go figure.)
After staring stupidly at the diaper display for several minutes while the rest of our grocery shopping trip slowly approached warmer than room temperature in the trunk of the car, I decided that on this, the Sunday following the third anniversary of Ian’s birth, there was nothing for it but to just take the plunge.
Up the escalator I went and acquired a dozen “big boy undies” in Thomas & Friends and Toy Story variety and then out to the car I went, where I was greeted with, “Mommy, you gots my ‘kohl kohl’ diapers?” which gave me the opportunity to reply, “No, honey, they didn’t have any more, you are just going to have to wear these big boy undies.”
And in the morning we started “potty training” in earnest. Not once that entire day did Ian actually go to the bathroom on the potty. He sat on it. He peed on the ground. He peed on the floor. He peed on himself, the furniture, and his bath, but not once did he actually hit the potty. Which is when I felt the need for 1) a stiff drink (of Diet Coke, my personal poison of choice) and 2) intervention from my higher power.
Thankfully, moments when you are sure your child will never “get it” are followed by times like the one we had last night when Ian declared that he is a big boy and will not be wearing “baby diapers” any more. Also, for our information, he pronounced that Frogs Do Not Wear Diapers.
The fact that he ultimately decided to wear a diaper to bed is irrelevant. The mere fact that he understands that diapers are a temporary condition gives us the strength to persevere.
That, and the fact that eight days into this project we finally started to hear more “Help, help, I need the potty!” than “Oh no, Mommy, I all wet!”
Looking for a kick start? Check out “Potty” by Groovy Nate.
