Transitioning back home from working in an office is quite the adjustment. The pros: no more 5:30 morning alarm, no dress code, no morning commute. Cons: being employed by a tiny boss who still poops his pants. Lest you think that working-from-home is all rainbows and pedicures, I feel the need to share my potty training saga. I heard a grandmother state the other day that 'everyone thinks they're great parents with one child'. Word. I don't even remember potty training my oldest...it just happened! Most credit goes to his preschool teachers at the time, but it was so painless. When it came time to do the same with his little brother, I puffed my chest out, pulled out the M&M's and confidently stripped my child naked. I would employ all the same tactics used on Wyatt and we'd experience the same results. Underwear, we're coming for you!
Eight excruciating months (and hundreds of over-priced Pull Ups) later, and we were no closer to having a child who would use the potty. Don't get me wrong, he'd use it long enough to receive a treat or reward. And just when he lulled you into a false sense of success, he'd crap his pants...in public...on the playground...down the slide. Or climb up in the waiting room chair at the Mac store, pee his pants, and sit in his urine without breathing a word until he stands up and leaves a noticeable puddle in the chair. One day in particular sent me over the proverbial edge. I was downstairs one morning and realized that I hadn't heard anything upstairs for several minutes. The dreaded toddler silence. I climbed the stairs where the boys' bathroom sits at the top of. My nostrils were stung by a foreign, awful odor escaping under the door. I walked into the bathroom and almost slipped and fell immediately. What was I stepping in?! It wasn't poop, it must be pee...I looked over to see a bottle of Clorox spray sitting on the ground. I began to survey the rest of my surroundings. There was poop EV-ER-Y-WHERE. Emmett had apparently pooped in his underwear, gone to the bathroom, sat down on the floor to remove soiled underwear, then sat on the potty. He'd left a trail of poop all over the bathroom: floor, walls, toilet seat. Recognizing that he'd created quite a mess, he decided to 'clean it up'. The entire bathroom was coated in human poop and bleach. I stood in the middle of it all and my only thought was "I have no clue about parenting". Not in a defeated, wanting to crumble into tears kind of way. More in a shockingly dumbfounded way.
Never again will I dole out potty training advice. I can't even begin to count the number of Hot Wheels cars that little dictator now possesses. Don't let your friend's potty trained one-and-a-half year old discourage you. That's just not in the cards for all of us. Hang in there mama's, there is always light at the end of the tunnel! Emmett only wets his bed every other night now ;)
Eight excruciating months (and hundreds of over-priced Pull Ups) later, and we were no closer to having a child who would use the potty. Don't get me wrong, he'd use it long enough to receive a treat or reward. And just when he lulled you into a false sense of success, he'd crap his pants...in public...on the playground...down the slide. Or climb up in the waiting room chair at the Mac store, pee his pants, and sit in his urine without breathing a word until he stands up and leaves a noticeable puddle in the chair. One day in particular sent me over the proverbial edge. I was downstairs one morning and realized that I hadn't heard anything upstairs for several minutes. The dreaded toddler silence. I climbed the stairs where the boys' bathroom sits at the top of. My nostrils were stung by a foreign, awful odor escaping under the door. I walked into the bathroom and almost slipped and fell immediately. What was I stepping in?! It wasn't poop, it must be pee...I looked over to see a bottle of Clorox spray sitting on the ground. I began to survey the rest of my surroundings. There was poop EV-ER-Y-WHERE. Emmett had apparently pooped in his underwear, gone to the bathroom, sat down on the floor to remove soiled underwear, then sat on the potty. He'd left a trail of poop all over the bathroom: floor, walls, toilet seat. Recognizing that he'd created quite a mess, he decided to 'clean it up'. The entire bathroom was coated in human poop and bleach. I stood in the middle of it all and my only thought was "I have no clue about parenting". Not in a defeated, wanting to crumble into tears kind of way. More in a shockingly dumbfounded way.Never again will I dole out potty training advice. I can't even begin to count the number of Hot Wheels cars that little dictator now possesses. Don't let your friend's potty trained one-and-a-half year old discourage you. That's just not in the cards for all of us. Hang in there mama's, there is always light at the end of the tunnel! Emmett only wets his bed every other night now ;)
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