I've Got Those Potty Training Blues

Exasperating. I cannot think of a single more befitting word to describe one of the most trying challenges of early parenthood, bar none. And I’m a veteran. You’d think I’d have this potty-training thing down. Nope. It’s got ME down.

Lately, I’ve felt as though the whole ordeal has been an exercise in futility, something destined to fail from the very start. And I find little comfort in the knowledge that thousands of toddlers successfully use the bathroom each and every day. Basically, it’s because my own pride and joy-bringers, otherwise known as the twin trainees, are not among this elite group—not just yet anyway.

It’s certainly not for a lack of enthusiasm or know-how on their part. I’ve never met more eager or capable candidates—Democrat or Republican. They know WHAT to do, and perfectly well WHERE to do it. But as is often the case with campaign promises, follow-through seems to be the problem. Consistency, too.

Furthermore, it’s not as though they haven’t been rewarded for their achievements—limited as those instances might have been. I’ve encouraged. I’ve cheered. I’ve coaxed and cajoled to the nth degree. Heck, I’ve even resorted to bribery—and it’s getting costly. We even purchased special underwear for the occasion, in hopes that Dora, Blue and Winnie the Pooh would spur them on to victory. Disappointingly, they were mild motivators at best.

What’s more, I think those highly revered “big kid pants,” advertised nearly every waking moment, cost more and do less. They’re nothing more than glorified diapers. Even my toddlers know this. They’re not stupid, just soggy much of the time.

It seems we’ve tried nearly everything, to no avail. Together we’ve discussed the many virtues of using the potty. “It’s not as messy!” “You get to flush!” “You never have to worry about that unsightly bulge again!” Well, maybe the first two promises mean something to them—especially when I make it sound so convincingly fantabulous, like a fast-talking, overeager door-to-door salesman. My objective is to deliver a perfectly polished sales pitch (highlighting key potty benefits) in ten seconds or less—because, of course, my audience possesses the attention span of a fruit fly. Trouble is, they’re not buying. In fact, some days they don’t even answer the door. Definitely two of the toughest customers I know.

We’ve tried reading about the topic together, too. Volumes, in fact. They know all about Prudence and her new potty, they understand and accept the idea that Everybody Poops and were absolutely thrilled beyond compare to receive a book that flushes. How ingenious. But despite it all, we’ve made little headway. Perhaps if Eric Carle’s Very Hungry Caterpillar character had visited the outhouse after his colossal binging session, we’d be getting somewhere by now. It’s a thought anyway.

Maybe the problem is that I expect too much. Or quite conceivably, I’ve been impatient with the pace of their progress, painfully slow that it’s been. One thing’s for certain; I’m tired of the near misses, less-than-specific aim and no-where-near-the-target doo-doo placements. No doubt, I’ve single-handedly kept the makers of Clorox Wipes in business these past few months. Likewise, the endless treks to the bathroom to try, try again are wearing me down. By my calculations, nature calls about every 11.3 minutes in this household, unless fluids have been consumed—then it’s a mere 29 seconds.

Furthermore, the daily task of collecting soggy underwear discarded here, there and everywhere has also been slightly maddening. And the living room potty-chair, (yes, LIVING ROOM potty-chair) has lost its luster—and novelty. Not to mention, it clashes horribly with our couch.

I’ve had it up to HERE (about a foot above my head) with the inadvertent tinklings and sprinklings—on the carpet, on the furniture and once, even on their beloved Beanie Babies. Nineteen of them, in fact. I counted. “Unbelievable,” was all I could manage to mutter to myself, positively too stunned to curse.

But mostly, it’s the regression that gets me down. Just when the flame of hope begins to glow brightly with the promise of a new day, someone pees on it. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Melinda L. Wentzel
Planet Mom
www.planetmom.ws