Potty Potty, Potty

Hello, friends!

'Tis me again, here to provide riveting tales of parental triumph and failure. Today's installment happens to flirt with the failure side of the spectrum. . . like most of my good stories. Who would want to sit here and read a blog post about how great I am?! Not me, that's for sure. :)

If you're skittish around potty talk, you might want to go draw with some sidewalk chalk instead. I keep it G rated, but still.

. . .

Hannah has been toying with the idea of potty training for the past, oh, month or so. I was all gung-ho one day and made a sticker chart, armed myself with a packet of panties, and bought a couple different kinds of juice for her to overdose on. I thought, "Now is the time. Today is the day! Let's do this."



Yeah, well. That sticker chart lasted all of 2.5 seconds before she ripped it off the wall. As if to console my wounded pride, she let lose a heartfelt "Oooooh. So pretty!" as she defaced my masterpiece.

*sniff sniff*

I even made up a stellar musical ditty to sing each time she tinkled. It went something like this: "Hannah went pee in the pott-tty! Hannah went pee in the potty, YAY!"

I know. Right?

I was SO ready.

. .

Well, things got a little hairy when I realized that her panties {although listed as size 3T} were rather snug. As in "way-too-snug-to-hurry-and-pull-down-when-the-sudden-urge-to-go-potty-hits-resulting-in-lots-o-laundry-for-mom" snug. So she ran around the house naked all day.

She ingested probably 4 gallons of juice and I knew it had to be coming, so I decided to plop her bum on the potty and do a puzzle to help keep her entertained {and immobile for longer than 30 seconds}. Halfway through the alphabet, she gasped and looked down, like, "What in the devil?"

Let me tell ya, she thought she was cool beans when she heard her customized potty song and I danced around the house like a fool. Before I could empty the bowl of an impressive amount of pee-pee, she got right back down to business with her puzzle. Unfortunately, she dropped a piece and it managed to find its way into the bucket.

Come oooooon.

That little puzzle piece has probably never been so scared in its entire life.

. .

#2 came along later that day, like it often does. I knew it was coming because she was running around the house at mach 90 making very uneasy noises. She was deeply troubled at the lack of receptacle on her bum and didn't know what to do about it. I explained that she could go in the potty and helped her sit down. I no sooner did so when she clamped onto both of my hands with untold force and secured them on either side of her face. I stood there looking like I was trying to squeeze the ever-livin' daylights out of her skull until business was complete. She was pretty proud of herself and even created an interpretive dance to go along with her potty song.

. . . . . .

Day Two = Fail. Fail. Fail.

I gave up after she peed on the carpet in various rooms multiple times. I decided that she couldn't quite tell WHEN she needed to go yet, and was thereby not quite ready to potty train.

. . . . .

About a week and a half ago, she asked to go on the potty again. I didn't think she'd do much, but I busted it out anyway. I had just baked cookies and told her she could have one if she tinkled in the potty. Well, she's no fool.

After the cookie was devoured, she went probably 30 times and demanded I empty the bucket after every 2 drops. I had the potty song stuck in my head all day because I was singing it every 10 minutes. But, hey, I wasn't about to complain.

As the afternoon wore on, I needed to use the bathroom myself and Hannah made sure to follow me {per the norm}. I told her I would like 2 minutes of privacy and closed the door. Well, 1.5 seconds later I saw her fingers splayed out under the door and heard her singing a made-up song at the top of her lungs. She must have figured I could use some entertainment because she fed a puzzle piece under the door. But, HARK. Then there was silence.

Nothing is quite as suspicious as a silent toddler.

I came out of the bathroom to find that she had pooped in the potty all by herself! Woo-hoo! I was SO proud of her.

But then. . .

{insert dramatic music here}

. . . later in the evening she decided that she needed to go #2 again. It wasn't so easy this time. Too many string cheeses? Who knows. All I know is that I couldn't get her sit on the potty for more than 30 seconds before she began running around the living room again. She was as spooked as a chocolate bunny before Easter. I was sitting on the kitchen floor next to her potty {don't judge-- she carried the thing in there and who was I to argue?} trying to convince her she didn't need to be scared. I tried to woo her over and as she neared me, she became even more skittish and then, PLOP.

There it was.

On the kitchen floor.

Staring at us.

Hannah let lose a whimper and flung herself into my arms. I just so happened to pick that very moment to vent a wee bit of frustration in the form of a growl. . . I wasn't mad she pooped on the floor, I was just flustered that she was so close to the potty but pooped on the floor instead. It was my bad and I take full responsibility. . . but at the time I just couldn't keep it in.

I continued to hold her on my lap and told her that it was okay she had an accident but that she needed to poop in the potty next time. I don't think she heard a word I said because she was busy keeping a pretty sharp eye on that thing. Maybe she figured it was gonna bite her? Say hello? All I know is that she was not lovin' it.

Chuck hurried in and saved the day by getting rid of the evidence, but the damage had been done. The image was probably burned onto the back of her eyeballs, ready to pop up every time she closed her eyes.

. . . . .

I haven't been able to convince her to go on the potty since then. Every time I ask or make a move to take her pants off and let her run around naked, she freaks.

So let this be a lesson to the lot of you.

Don't make eye contact with your bowel movements. You'll never be the same.