This week has been longer than most. Obviously, since it's been 10 days since my last post and for that, I am a bad blogger. Seriously though? M and I were just talking a little while ago about how loooong this week has been - and not in a good way. We were sagging with relief at it's end, breathing deeply, when what should we hear from another room? "Uh-oh. Mommy Daddy I have a pooop!"

[whimper]

As we flew in to the bathroom, we were greeted by the following scene: A pull-up on the floor. A poop...next to the potty. On the floor. A girl-child with her pants around her ankles and her mouth completely covered in...black?

I did not even know where to begin. Clearly, she had been eating markers. Clearly, she had missed the potty but tried really hard not to. Clearly, I should not have been trying to take a moment's worth of deep breathing before she was in bed.

M went to work on the poop on the floor. I went to work on her face. And then checked myself and cleaned off her bum. And then her face. But here's the dirty secret about Rose Art's water soluble, washable markers: THEY AREN'T. Even after the bathroom and the girl-child's bum were de-poopified, the face, the teeth, the tongue...were not.

I don't think I've ever had her brush her teeth for that long. Or rinse and spit so many times.

It seemed a most fitting end to this work week though, arguably one of the longest work weeks in the history of work weeks. Truly, there is nothing more perspective inducing than seeing your toddler literally covered, head-to-toe, in a giant mess.

I'm grateful that it's over.

The ray of sunshine in all of it? The fact that she really did try to make it to the potty in time. Were it not for the fact that I forgot to lift up the lid on her little pot, she probably would have done well. So, I do take that responsibility.

It's time to breathe out now.

On Poop

There are a great many things that I never thought I would say in my lifetime...and among them, the following utterance probably ranked right near the top: "Now remember, don't pee on Ni Hao honey. It will make her saaaad."

So began our final journey into a diaper free world last Sunday. It's been almost a year since A bought her own potty, but last week, she also picked her own underpants.

For the record: Ni Hao was the compromise. Even though she doesn't watch Dora the Explorer, she knows who Dora is. I hate Dora. We both agreed on Ni Hao. (And don't talk to me about Dora being the same as Ni Hao. They're not. I don't hate Ni Hao.)

Fortunately, play skool also potty trains. And of course, because she's an angel at play skool, she's a champion potty-goer there too. But at home, especially this weekend, after a week in underpants, we've had more out of the potty than in, or so it seems. She refuses to poop in the potty at all here, although I'm bribing her with sparkly, shiny stickers as of todaytty, so who knows.

Last Monday, I spent 40 minutes in the bathroom waiting for a poop. I showed her how to make the  "I'M POOPING!" face; I sang the pooping song. I applauded poop. And I thought to myself, when I used to say I was in the shit, especially overseas, I never thought that someday it would come to mean this. My, how the toughest do fall...

That was the first, and last, potty poop thus far.

Now, I am so tired of poop. I know we're in the beginning stages, but poop is poop and I have "potty trained" enough puppies in my day to know that I'm so damn done with cleaning up accidents, especially poop. If I never see another poop where it doesn't belong again, it will be too soon. Even my own mother, mother of all mothers, sent me a text on Monday that said, "Potty training is a good form of birth control."

I texted back saying that was true, but it's also a milestone, and almost typed millstone instead.

I know we'll get there. She's great with not peeing on Ni Hao, Yo Gabba Gabba, or her frogs. It's just that I don't like poop. I really don't like poop.

Tips or tricks on potty training you'd like to share?

The Potty. The Bathmat. And Me.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, M and I sat down and decided that at age 18 months, this tiny bundle of...bundle of...well...bundle would start to potty train. It seemed reasonable. We had a friend who had successfully trained each one of her grandchildren at that very age in just 3 days each. We teased her that she'd be training ours too...but of course, we didn't really intend to torture a dear friend that way. Or did we?

Back then, it seemed an eternity away - a pie in the sky notion, a bridge not to be crossed for a long time.

But on Columbus Day, A turned 18 months and she has actually taken any decision on our parts with respect to the where and when she will potty train completely out of our hands, crumpled it up, chewed on it a bit, stomped on it and then tossed it in the garbage ("What a wonderful help you are, Bean!" I proudly exclaim).

You see, our not-so-little bundle of....bundle, started getting interested in just what exactly goes on behind that closed bathroom door when Mommy or Daddy are occupying it about two months ago. As a result of that, neither M nor myself have had much private time to sit, do our business and escape the clamor of the household. The child insists on following us in and repeatedly pointing between our legs yelling, "PEE! PEEPAH-EE MAMA!!!! PEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Occasionally, she'll pepper the running PEE dialogue with, "Poop? Toot?" [facepalm]

In spite of her obvious willingness to learn to secrets of the privy, we didn't push. We were in the throes of some major issues and life changes and were trying to keep the routine as close to normal as possible for her. We moved a month and a half ago and we're still not pushing. In fact, the idea of potty training at 18 months had really just sort of fallen off of our radar.

But, about 3 weeks after the move, at Babies R Us (shopping for new feety pajamas no less), the little bean broke free and ran, shrieking with delight and yelling, "GO GO GO!!!!" across the store faster than it took me to fling the pajamas I was inspecting, fall on my face and recover and get after her. She had actually gotten out of my line of sight, but fortunately, she's loud. Oh so very loud. So I followed her siren noises (she makes those too when on A Mission) and found that she was at the back of the store, investigating the training potties.

"Pah-ee, Mama!" she pointed excitedly. "PAH-EE!!" I was a little put off that she recognized a plastic frog as a potty (and it was) but realized that what she really recognized was the picture of the smiling cherub sitting in the familiar potty position on the box. And so it went. Every potty she could reach was pulled out, sat upon, fondled, examined and put into two piles: "Maybe" and "Nooooo". All of this was done by her and her alone while I stood, open mouthed in awe and just a little bit of horror, and sort of...let her comparison shop.
 
She finally settled on the cheapest potty, a simple tan and green affair that converts to a step stool and is made of sustainable materials. It's the Nature's Way Eco Potty. I should note that, while I do not consider myself an Eco-Warrior or even very green (nor do I care all that much either), I do make a point to recycle a lot and I have been buying environmentally friendly cleaners. But it's not a general point of discussion in the household, so I had to laugh silently as she passed by all of the flashy, fun potties for something so simple, so cheap and so...green!


She wanted to carry her "pah-ee" herself and as she toddled back to find Daddy and show him, she also stopped to show every single person along the way. She proudly held out her self selected potty and, with an ear to ear grin would exclaim, "PAH-EE!!" I got a few wan smiles, some confused looks and a couple of good laughs in my general direction, but A was wholly unphased by the lack of excited response from strangers. She was simply too proud to be carrying, in her arms, her very own potty.

The night she brought the potty home beaming with pride she spent nearly the entire post-dinner, pre-bed time sitting on it, waiting to pee. The lack of anything happening while actually on the potty hasn't discouraged her one bit. It's her potty, it's her choice, it's her excitement.

Since then, she takes it on herself to sit on it each night. Nothing has happened in it yet, though not for lack of her checking to see. She'll look between her legs and then look up, beaming, and ask, "Pee?" Sometimes, she'll stand up and check the catch basin to see if anything materialized. Tonight, of course, she sat. She checked. She beamed. Nothing. So, she got up and began throwing her bath toys into the filling tub...and peed.

All I could do was sigh and think, well, we're getting closer. She peed by the potty...

But that night - the first night living in a house with a baby potty nestled next to ours, after she had gone to bed, M and I sat on the back porch, watching the stars and I tried not to cry a little. As I explained to him - while the prospect of not having to buy diapers anymore is an exciting one and I can finally see the light of a diaper free household dawning on the distant horizon, the very fact that our daughter, at 18 months, chose, on her own, to pick out a potty and try to use it is just a little heartbreaking. She's no longer a little bundle of warm, sweet smelling, independent cheerful joy. She's fast turning into a big bundle of warm, sweet smelling, independent cheerful joy - with her own very articulate thoughts and one calling her own shots. In short, she's growing up and doing it just a little bit faster than I thought I was ready for.