I had a plan. I was going to share my thoughts with you on why I believe having three children is easier than having two. Instead I’m doing that over at Her View From Home today and sharing other groundbreaking, earth shattering news {seriously here} here. We had a little surprise happening this week… the middlest started to potty train himself. This is almost as insane as the Pink unicorn I rode earlier this week. Oh that was a good, good day.
Potty training. Blerg. Along with sleep, eating, and tantrums, I think potty training might be one of the most talked about toddler subjects. Though after naming those four things, I’m not sure that there’s much left in the world of toddlers. When our oldest was mid-twos, everyone kept asking when I was planning to potty train him. We really weren’t even thinking about it, to be honest. The only thing I knew about potty training was that you put a blue potty pad down in the laundry room and hope the kid pees on it. Wait. No. That was for our miniature schnauzer, Molly. That we got for Easter. When I was a child {Happy Easter, btw!}.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand… When people started asking {no judgment, clearly} when we would potty train Barrett, I sort of looked at them with glazed eyes. I mean, first off, he is a boy. Don’t boys just pee in the backyard once they’re old enough to open the door? Shouldn’t we just be training him to open the door? We had a two and a half year old and a two month old. We were just trying to form sentences and survive. As the oldest, he showed no signs of readiness or interest, and I had no interest in dealing with a regression when the babe was born {aka the day his world would be ruined, momentarily}, so we signed on for two in diapers and that was that. Who needs money anyway?
And so, after number two– Mr. Jonah –arrived, B continued to number one and two in dipes. When he was two pint five and change, we shipped him off to pre-school. One where they were okay with parents who had neglected to get a ride on the potty train. Soon after, while on a play date with one of his homies, he spotted a big jar of m&ms on the back of his toilet. And his wheels started turning. Potty=candy. Yes. It was then that he declared that he, too, wanted a jar of m&ms in his bathroom. He wanted to pee on the potty. Easy peasy, I said. I went and bought a potty. A book on potty training boys. Some m&ms. And OPERATION: POTTY TRAINING WEEKEND was under way.
The first day. Utter failure. Here’s the poop. There were pees and poops everywhere. Except the potty. On the living room floor. On the couch. On the bathroom floor {getting warmer!}. Why didn’t we purchase one of those blue mats? Oh what joy. We nearly waved our hands in the air like we didn’t care. But once we started, we were pot committed. Literally. So we plodded on.
The second day. We came up with an unshakeable plan. Er. The only thing we could think of. I made a sticker chart. And no. Not some fancy Pinterest item that would later be framed for his wall. Pinterest didn’t even exist yet. Yeah, there was a day when we had to come up with our own unique ideas {don’t mistake this for me hating on Pinterest. Only love}. So instead, I got out a piece of white computer paper. I drew five boxes with an orange marker. And we told him that if he had 5 successful potty deposits, he would be the proud owner of some random toy we had in the basement stash. Something that he, of course couldn’t live without.
And. Boom went the dynamite. BlammO went the bowel movements. Into the potty. Apparently he just needed a little bribery, or as we like to call it, positive reinforcement. I never did actually read that book but I’m guessing it had ALL the answers.
Since that weekend, almost 3 years ago, I’d say he’s had less than a handful of accidents. Praise the Lawd! It was just the right time. He was, I guess, ready. And we apparently had just the right toy. He soon transitioned out of diapers at night. But we didn’t sweat that from the start. And then, one day, he was just fully potty trained. I’m convinced it had nothing to do with anything we did. Don’t let kids fool you into thinking you have much to do with their success, they are sneaky little gremlins. And they always have a plan.
So okay. 2490 words in, I’m gettin’ to the meat of this post. I know you’re shocked.
So the middlest, the second boy, with him we’ve taken the same approach. When he wakes in the morn, his dipe has more liquid in it than a frat house trash can full of Husker Punch. He has proven that he cannot feel himself letting one loose in the tub. Thank you, Lysol. He doesn’t even seem clear as to which bodily fluid comes out of each area, often declaring that he’s pooped out of his penis. So while we fulfilled our parental obligation by setting the potty in the powder room for him to occasionally pop a squat, I had figured the diaper budget would continue to steal from my mani/pedi fund for the foreseeable future. I even just finished confirming that he didn’t need to be in whitey tighties for pre-school in the fall. Because you know, that’s totally got to be how the experts say you should choose your child’s academic future.
But this one keeps us on our toes. And I just love him for it.
Because yesterday. Well, yesterday Jonah decided that since he’s recently enjoyed hopping on his frog potty on occasion to see if “it works” {and by it, I mean his penis} that he should be wearing undies. So I did what any mother of three boys does. I took a pair of his brother’s underwear {is this completely disgusting? I hope not} and replaced his dipe. And though he had one missed opportunity to drop it like it was hot… And instead dropped three little turds in his {errr… His brother’s} Flash undies… He successfully peed in {or around. Those boy parts can be tricky to contain, apparently} the potty every single time he sat down. How’s that for intrinsically motivated?
The very best part is how farking excited he is every time he makes it happen. I haven’t seen that much excitement from a kid since they put a kids interface on Netflix. I did it! He exclaims following each victory, hands in the air, penis flapping in the wind.
I’m not completely sure where we’ll go from here. Still looking for the parenting manual we seem to have misplaced. He’s a different fellow than the oldest bro. If we push him on anything, he’ll push back with abandon. Just to get our goat.
This morning, after freeing himself of his night dipe, he sat upon his thrown and left a mean steamer cleanly in the pot. After sitting for shorter than it takes me to sneeze. And you would have thought his poop was gold. We had to take a picture of the poop. We had to text the picture. High five. And jump up and down. It was a good moment.
We’re traveling today and this weekend. And though we’ll have our potty in tow, we will totally rock a dipe for the drive. And for sleep and naps. Because there’s a good chance with this kid that he’s just playing the ultimate joke on us. Following his poops this morn he made an oops, once again. But all in all, things are looking swell. And if he does indeed, somehow day potty train himself without much effort on my part, well I’ll be happier than a hog in mud. Because that will be the nicest thing he’s ever done for us. He is only almost 3. It’s not like there’s much he can do to express his gratitude. But I’m basically taking it as proof that we haven’t ruined his life. Yet. And if we can say farewell to the size fives, I will let him pick anything out of the random basement stash. A ceiling fan. A random side table. A bag of salt and vinegar chips. The possibilities for the potty prize are endless.
