Some of you may fondly remember my original freak out about redirecting the bodily fluids of the small person in my life into the appropriate vessel of defecation. I’m sorry to say that the only cold turkey that was found twenty four hours later was the cold cuts in the fridge. I gave up when the score at the end of day two looked something like this:
I gave up, decided there’s worse things in life than having a three year old in diapers and went along my merry way. I went to Costco to stock up on more diapers when the Pull-Ups started whispering sweet nothings to me. Now I know there’s at least one of you *tsk tsking* me for even considering Pull-Ups. So many moms think they are the tools of the devil.
Well, I say nay, because I slapped one of those princess encrusted Pull-Ups on the moosh as soon as we walked in the door and she didn’t pee in a SINGLE ONE OF THEM. OR POOP.
So there, ha.
All bodily fluids made it into the toilet.
I had this whole post in my head about Pull-Ups saving my sanity and WHO’S THE BIG MAMA NOW? I was going to glory in the seeming impossibility that my child was instantly potty trained.
I was going to.
A week after she started using the potty I took this picture:
Shortly afterwards, the moosh jumped from her dresser onto her bed. Nothing out of the ordinary, she’s been doing it for months. Except this time only one foot landed on her bed. Her other foot never landed.
See that safety bar on her bed?
She racked her girly bits right. on. it.
After she calmed down and I had distracted her from the trauma that is racking your girly bits, she headed in to pee. Not a good idea. The screaming, OH, the screaming.
Needless to say my potty trained child was no longer potty trained. Just the mention of the word sent her into hysterics. She wouldn’t go near the bathroom. No amount of promises or bribes would get her to consider even sitting on the toilet. She thought it was the toilet that had hurt her. Not a result of her fall.
Can’t blame her really.
And here is where I admit my faults. After three days I got frustrated, I got mean. She should believe me if I told her it wasn’t going to hurt. It wasn’t the potty that hurt her. It was her fall, and she was fine (she really was, only a bruise). But she refused, insisted on diapers.
I should have given up.
But I couldn’t give in, I couldn’t let her win. PRINCIPLE! PRINCIPLE I SAY!
We both worked ourselves up into such an angry tizzy that we had to go in our rooms and decompress for at least an hour. The whole time I was thinking “Hello? Casey? You’re the grownup, GROW THE HELL UP.”
So I gave up. Diapers it was. If it was going to be diapers until first grade then so be it. It was up to her. Not me.
That was a three days ago. I haven’t even worried my head about it since then.
And you know what?
She just used the potty. All by herself.
I really need to find more constructive things to freak out about.