It's that time of the year when the leaves are beginning to show their bright, shining faces, flowers spout from the Earth's rich, brown soil, and the birds and the bees start playing kiss chase. A time where getting wet won't lead to getting pneumonia. Where running around with only a shirt on won't be give your neighbors the right to call child welfare. A time of peace...love...prosperity...and (pause) potty training.
Yes, you heard it right. . .potty training.
You'd think by now I'd have the skills of a professional potty trainer. Yes, (said with a sauntering gait in my stride) I've got three pottiers tucked under mah belt. You'd think I'd know everything there is to know, and that within a week of training, I could add another niche in my toilet seat.
Not gonna happen.
Albeit a mere year that the last diaper wearer kicked the bucket and started wearing big girl pants, I seem to find myself clueless which direction to take. Let's start with the "potty." Have you seen the selection of pottys they have out there??? There are talking pottys, singing pottys, pottys for the rich, pottys for the poor, pottys that look like trucks, pottys that look like flower pots, frog pottys, bucket pottys, spider man pottys...a potty for every occasion. I mean COME ON! What is the deal here? It all goes in the same place, doesn't it? Anyway, I went with the potty that looked like a truck, and when activated by warmth (not gonna get graphic here), it makes the sound of a truck starting its engine. Yeah, it really does. Well, it looked cute, sounded cute, had cute stickers, but there was no way my son's chubby rear end was going to fit between the wheels of that there bus. Not to mention a flimsy construction and a lid that snapped off the second time it was used as a step stool (yes, it is a supposed step stool as well). So, back to the drawing board...or the local Wal Mart.
We found the potty for him...the Fisher Price Royal Seat thing. It plays four different royal tunes, warmth activated of course, and it is roomy and comfortable for his chubby butt. Much more sturdy than the truck and tractor pull potty.
So, we're set, right? Well, let me just say that pull ups are hard to pull down. We fight to pull the up, we fight to pull them down, and once they are down, he insists on walking across the room with them about his ankles. Secondly, pull ups are like the diapers he so fondly remembers, so why not use them the way he used the diapers? Why can't he potty in a pull up? Why use the potty? So, I abandon the pull up and pull out the Amazing Spider Man big boy pants. Let me pause here and say one thing...Why is it little girl undies fit nicely, accordingly to size, while big boy pants are loose and tend to sag to the knee? I know he needs a little more room in the nether regions, but I don't think we have to worry about a little snugness lowering his sperm count just yet, now do we? Give me some boy underwear that fit please, Alex, for the win. However, all sagginess aside, I am having better luck. They are easier to pull down, and he likes pretending he's spider man.
With my belt slung haphazardly around my waist, packed with stain remover, wipes,Lysol, loaded with resolve and determination, I gaze across the room, meeting his steel blue eyes. Off in the distance you can hear the Clint Eastwood Western whistle going off...I spit...he spits.
It's potty time.