So, today is the day that I have to make a confession. Well, two confessions. Everyone here knows that I have a 2 year old and a 3 year old, right? That's not the confession.
No, wait. I have an almost 3 year old and an almost 4 year old. That's better. Still, not the confession.
So, I have an almost 3 year old and an almost 4 year old - and neither of them are potty trained. There. Those are the two confessions.
Oh, yes ma'am, you heard me right. They are both in "training pants." But that is a lie. There is no "training" in "training pants." They are actually just diapers that go on a different way.
So, both girls are in diapers and I am pregnant with a 3rd little sprout and I guess it hit me about 2 weeks ago that if nothing changes that come early September I will have three, count them 1, 2, 3, in diapers. That is the hugest run-on if ever there was one. But again, 3 in diapers.
And, well, I kind of freaked.
Not the traditional "well, let's get this show on the road and get these kids trained" freaked. But more the "I'm a horrible mother and I've lost all control and I've missed my chance and I wonder if I can at least have them not wearing adult diapers by the time they start having to change into gym clothes in front of their classmates in junior high" freaked.
Now, I could go into a lengthy essay full of excuses as to why the Tater is almost 4 and not trained. But, basically, mommy guilt tells me it's all my fault. And the problem wasn't the peeing in the potty, but the poop. Oh.my.good.grief. the poop.Sooo
, the PaTato
decided that it was time to take this thing head on. A smorgasbord of pretty underthings were laid out in plain sight in the living room. Threats were commanded. Promises were made. Praises were lavished.
The girl would hold it for two days and then sneak, hide, and poop. In the two seconds that I would turn my head or the five minutes that I wouldn't remind her that she had to poop in the potty she would find a way to trick me. She obviously had a well laid plan.
So, fast forward to yesterday. Oh my good grief, you all are saying, please for the love of all things fast forward.
Tater hadn't "gone" for a day and a half, and we had pretty much beaten into her head that if she "went" on herself, there was big trouble. At lunch time yesterday, I decided to gorge her with food. The afternoon consisted of Spaghetti-O's
with cheese, chips, juice, milk, pineapple, and apples, not to mention it had been a day and a half. No one little body can hold that much. Something was coming out one way or another.
It played out like this: she had to pee, she went to pee, she accidentally let loose of one little "poop ball." (her words, not mine) We celebrated. We yelled. We screamed. We called family. We ate M&M's. We ate a cookie with M&M's. We were excited. She went to play.
Then it hit her. She really
had to poop. She ran to the potty. She sat. She pooped. She yelled for me. Then she said them - what have to be some of the funniest words I have ever heard come out of such a little mouth.
"MOMMY! I! POOPED! I! POOPED! IN! THE! POTTY! AND! IT'S! A! BANANA! POOP! A! BIG! BANANA! POOP! A! TEN! DOLLAR! BANANA! POOP!"
And it was. And, just so you know, I want to share with you what this Tater scored for a poop ball and a banana poop in the potty.
- M&M cookie
- a promise of underthing shopping with Mommy
- a promise of underthing shopping with Nana
- a one night slumber party in Mommy & Daddy's bed (can you tell we're selfish sleepers? this has never happened before!)
- a new book
- a promise of at least $2 from Nana
- a prize from Papaw
- ten crisp one dollar bills from Daddy
So, I'm proud, PaTato is proud, but most of all, Tater's proud. And I guess that is a step in the right direction.
One down, one to go.
Confessions are good for the soul, right?
Labels: Parenting Dirt, Tater