Thursday, June 16, 2011

Potty Training: Zoe Edition

But first, a random tangent:

I did go to the walking path at 9pm (Recommended Playlist: A Fine Frenzy - Bomb in a Birdcage). All was well for the first mile and a half. Then out of nowhere, it was like the midges hatched in mid-air. There were none, then there were zillions, floating in massive waves off the lake. It was biblical.

So, like any sane person, I head south.

I'm starting to cross Lake Road and I'm watching two older women heading my direction. At first I think one is holding a swaddled baby, but then I realize it is too round. As they get closer, I see it is a bundle of plant clippings, and the other woman has a similar sized bundle wrapped up in her shirt.

They are generally acting suspicious, so either they stole them from someone's yard or the community rose garden (although what they were holding couldn't have had thorns). Cannot decide if this is on par with stealing vegetables from the community garden on the other side of town, considering people pay money to plant their vegetables there.

And they say we live in a safe community...might as well be downtown Detroit.

Now back to the regularly scheduled post.

You know who pisses me off? People who get their kids potty trained by two and act like it’s no big deal. Okay, so really I’m just jealous…okay, but really it pisses me off.

I actually can’t remember when we got Morgan on the toilet band wagon. I remember “potty stickers”, and I remember it was relatively quick and thorough (not even a night-time accident), but probably closer to the three than two mark.

I was definitely pregnant with Zoe, because I remember the mantra, “Only one in diapers…only one in diapers!” But I was never really worried about it, or even caught up in how old she was at the time.

Maybe it was because our social circle was slightly behind us in child rearing. Maybe it was because Morgan never seemed to be manipulative about it, like going behind a chair to “fill her pants.” (My sister-in-law should be cringing right about now.) Maybe I just had a lot more f-ing patience.

What I remember clearly about Morgan would be the nights I would wake up at 1 a.m. to have her beady little eyes staring straight into my soul, waiting for me to take her to the bathroom. Nevermind the fact that she had to walk all the way around our king-sized bed, past her father, to get to me.

Nowadays Morgan has a bladder the size of an oil tanker. Sometimes she doesn’t even go right when she gets up in the morning. So at least I don’t have to worry about her being in the top bunk.

Then there’s Zoe.

It seemed to me that everyone was getting there faster. Now some of the concern I can blame on my own ridiculousness. For instance, Paige is almost six months older than her, but I always think of them as the same age.

But then we have Lydia at daycare that is six months younger than Zoe. When I mentioned I was going to try training Zoe over Christmas, her mother decided she would do it, too. Guess who took to it?

Since I take two weeks off of work around the holidays, I thought it would be a great time to go cold turkey. Zoe would be 2 ½. Not unreasonable, and yet all I got out of the deal was ten extra loads of laundry and a steam cleaner on standby next to the couch.

So we went the Pull-Up route. And the treat route. And the yelling route. Not my proudest moment, but when she looks right at you and is clearly crapping her pants and telling you not to look at her, you can see my frustration.

I had pretty much written her off, but then she started wanting to go to the bathroom when we were in public places. Particularly, the grocery store. Now, I’m sorry, but the local Heinen’s restroom is not the lap of luxury. Why anyone would prefer to use it over the comfort of their own home is beyond me. It’s one step up from a porta-pot.

But there we were – still keeping the Pull-Up producers in the black. Fast forward to this last Saturday while getting dressed in the morning. I noticed that we only had a few Pull-Ups left and I suddenly came up with an idea.

“If you can keep your underwear dry, we can pick out a new baby.”

Eyes light up. “I can do it, Mom.”


“Everyday, Mom.”

Yes, for the next five days I had to listen to “Can we go get my baby now?” But I also got to listen to the musical sound of pee tinkling into the toilet and melodious flush that followed it up.

$9 baby from Target…totally worth it. (Despite the fact that it looks like half the other babies currently calling the playroom their home and they are starting to refer to her as Angelina Jolie.)

So of course I spent half of our time at the pool yesterday taking her to the bathroom, because she “has to poop!” Which of course she doesn’t, it’s just gas…so moral of the story…everyone should just wear diapers.

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