How NOT to Potty Train Your Child
When you're ready to take that all-important step and potty train your kid, there's no shortage of informational how-to guides on the Internet. But I'm putting a different spin on that right here at The Frump, y'all. Because I? Am a living, breathing, regretful example of a potty training failure. Which means there's a valuable lesson to be learned here: when it comes to getting Junior to ditch the diapers, do not - I repeat, do not - do what I've done. Just read my story, take note of my method, and then don't ever do it. Your kid should be potty trained in no time, and you can thank me monetarily if you wish. I mean, it IS kind of a huge favor. Me being your personal example and all.
Anyway, as you know if you've read me for any length of time, my middle son Cameron will be turning three years old on January 17th. That's wouldn't be such a disgraceful age to still be wearing Pull-Ups if I hadn't been attempting to potty train him FOR OVER A YEAR.
Are you done laughing? Because I don't have all day.
... There. That's better. Can I finish?
The wheels were set in motion around June of 2009, when I was pregnant with baby #3, henceforth referred to as Coby. At the time of Coby's birth, Cameron would be just shy of two years (20 months old, to be precise). Seeing as a.) my oldest son Colin was completely potty-trained by the time he was 2-1/2, and b.) Cameron had Colin as an example of how to pee in the big-boy potty, I figured it would be easy-peasy to potty train Cameron before the new baby arrived, even though he was a little on the young side.
Now, looking back, I can see how this was flawed logic. But seriously? When you're pregnant and facing the dismal prospect of not one but two babies in diapers? Logic kinda flies out the window.
And in keeping with the "logic out the window" theme, I decided that I would try to potty train him in three days.
Okay, now you can laugh. Because I, too, have to laugh* at the irony of thinking that I'd have him using the toilet consistently in three days, and here I am like a year and a half later and he is STILL not using the toilet consistently.
*And by "laugh" I mean make a weak little sound that resembles a chuckle because if I don't I'll end up crumpled on the floor weeping in great choking sobs.
Anyway, I found a 3-day training guide on the Internet and gave it a go (pun totally intended). You can find my riveting* day-by-day chronicle of that here.
*And by "riveting" I mean pretty interesting if you like to read about three days' worth of me cleaning up urine and feces from my floor.
Obviously that didn't work. In retrospect, he just wasn't ready and I tried to make him ready. Which was probably the catastrophic mistake that triggered this potty-training failure. So then I thought I'd wait until after the baby was born.
November 4th of LAST YEAR, almost two months after Coby was born, I wrote on this very blog:
"Potty training. Yes, I decided to try it again. WHAT am I THINKING, you guys?!? It's like when the glorious vision of only one child in diapers appears in my mind, I miraculously gloss over the dirty details of getting to that point. And with all this other stuff on my proverbial plate right now? Ugh. I am kicking myself. But potty training isn't the type of thing you can just take lightly. It requires commitment. And unfortunately, my dumb ass committed to it before my brain could say, 'Wait! What are you doing? Noooooooo!!!'"
Yes. I wrote that last year. A year ago. So obviously? It didn't go over so smoothly then, either.
Which brings us to now. Like I said, Cameron is almost three. And I'm at the point where I just want to drag him to the toilet and give him swirlies* until he learns what the damn thing is for.
*And by "give him swirlies" I mean stand there begging and pleading on the verge of tears for him to please, please, for the love of God please learn to go pee-pee in the big boy potty so Mommy doesn't have to sell another organ in order to buy diapers.
See, he does just fine using the toilet ... if he isn't wearing pants. If he gets to run around like a nudist, he goes to the toilet every single time, pee or poop, no accidents. But the minute I cover his naked little heinie with anything - underwear, a Pull-Up, whatever - it's like he's wearing a damn diaper. If he has to go, he just goes in whatever happens to be covering his butt. And I thought maybe after a few times of that, of walking around with this uncomfortable mess in his pants, he'd be broken of the habit - but no.
He couldn't. Care. Less.
And there's no end in sight. We're at a stubborn potty-training impasse.
So learn from my mistakes, folks. Because only one of us should have to endure the embarrassment of carting a pantsless kid off to college.