Three hours ago: Potty training! I'd rather be in the dentist's chair. We're going nowhere fast.
One hour ago: I quit. We'll call this a dry run (figuratively speaking; there was nothing dry about it). Ainsley just pooped in front of the Fed Ex man.
(All of this reminds me of Betty White's comment from a while back: "You know, I have so many people to thank for being here, but I really have to thank Facebook. When I first heard about the campaign to get me to host Saturday Night Live I didn't know what Facebook was, and now that I do know what it is I have to say it sounds like a huge waste of time."
Betty, you may have a point.)
But back to the fascinating topic of potty training . . .
I could rattle off a dozen reasons why this is Not The Time to potty train: I am dealing with a few medical issues, we are going out of town shortly, Dave is under the gun at work, Ainsley just turned two, and the list goes on to include issues both trivial and quite serious.
I can think of just one reason to Seize The Day: I returned home from the atrium yesterday to find Ainsley standing in the dining room wearing black patent leather shoes. And nothing else.
This, sadly, was not an isolated event. The Lady Godiva number has been going on for quite some time now. I haven't resorted to the duct tape special, but I did briefly put Ainsley in a bathing suit hoping that would keep her dressed for the duration of dinner. She's connected all the dots, I think. She'll remove a yucky diaper, dump the contents, flush it, and resume play. She can clearly articulate, "I poopy. It's yucky. Where are the wipes?" All this seems to spell “Forge ahead!”
This morning I bravely put on my game face and enthusiastically presented the grand plan.
Me: Ainsley, if you go pee pee on the potty, I'll give you chocolate.
Ainsley: No way!
Yes, she's two and suddenly she's quite good at it. Articulate and decisive!
Well, it proved to be one damp and noxious day. Ainsley made two deposits in the potty: her Rosary case and a load of her brother's Legos. For good measure, John wet his pants.
Much has been written about “readiness”-- on the part of the child, that is. Well, I’m skeptical, if not cynical on this topic. The only person who needs to be ready is the one who will be disinfecting the house from one end to the other in the wake of non-stop accidents. This would be the same one who purchases a large supply of Bob the Builder underwear and chocolate, who rolls up all area rugs, who ensures that both washer and dryer are in excellent repair, and who somehow manages to press forward when all hints of progress have come to a screeching halt.
My previous three experiences have taught me that you can't be lukewarm about the whole affair. It's all or nothing. No retreat! Cheer every small success and try hard to ignore the setbacks. Try to smile. Try really hard.
All of this reminds me of why many people boycott “mommy blogs,” obsessed as they are with bodily functions.
A point well taken.
P.S. Ainsley really did poop in front of the Fed Ex man.