Potty Training. I’m pretty sure it’s how I die. If you haven’t had young kids for a while (or you’re not yet to this magical stage), let me remind of/fill you in on all the fun you’re missing.
There are so many things I left unconsidered when gleefully saying goodbye to diapers. Obvious things, like toddlers need to pee at really inconvenient times in really inappropriate places.
Example: A friend of mine told me that the secret to potty training a boy was to let him go outside. It was perfect advice. My son was all about heading outside for potty time. In fact, he preferred it. He even asked to go out when I let out the dog.
But here’s a little tip for that approach: Make sure you strongly clarify to your dear, sweet son that outdoor potty time is for PEE ONLY. Otherwise, he may defecate on a pool patio.
Another thing I didn’t consider? Toddlers get sick. Like, a lot. And a nice clean set of brand new Mickey Mouse underwear is basically inviting the universe to send a stomach virus your way. I’m pretty sure I have laundry PTSD from that experience.
And then we have adventures like today . . .
Today, we experienced Fresh Market for the first time. The store opened off of Indian Lake Boulevard in Hendersonville back in the spring, but I finally felt brave enough to go in with both of my children. I was pretty sure it would be pretty and clean and quiet.
Enter my toddler, who voiced loudly in the parking lot that he needed to go potty RIGHT NOW.
We rushed in the front doors and immediately located the bathroom. Holding my 7-month-old in one arm while gently nudging him past the checkout lanes with my other arm and coaching him, “Keep holding it. You can do this! Keep those undies dry! Mickey Mouse wants to stay dry today!”
He realizes it’s a public bathroom. He hates public bathrooms. I can’t say I blame him, but I don’t throw my entire body on the floor in protest quite like he does.
So he’s on the ground, yelling “No. I NOT. I NOT GO.” Naturally, he chooses to do this right in front of the seating area where pretty, clean, quiet customers are eating their pretty, clean, healthy lunches.
I resort to bribery. He enters the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, nothing. He pulls up those dry undies, announces, “No pee pee,” and heads for the door.
The baby goes into a shopping cart while the toddler helps push. We explore the store while I make pleasant conversation with the threenager. Things like, “Don’t put your hands in the coffee beans,” and “You can’t open that sushi. Put the sushi down. Now. Actually, mama wants a spicy tuna roll for lunch. Put the sushi in the cart.”
We pass the bakery, and I can’t resist stopping to stare at the cakes. My birthday is in a few days, so I take out my phone and snap a picture of a particularly delicious looking chocolate thing that absolutely does not fit on the Trim and Healthy Mama Plan and send it to my husband as a not-so-subtle hint.
My son puts both hands on the glass, bends down, and stares longingly at the cake. Several store patrons laugh at his sweetness.
Then he poops right there in front of the display.
And this is why I can’t go back to Fresh Market. Until I dye my hair or something.
Potty training. Solidarity, sisters. Share your stories, and make me feel a little less crazy.
