I'm a smart person. At least I think I am. I am dedicated. Devoted.
Work hard and parent hard. Decent at my job.
Kind to animals. I recycle. Tithe to a church. Donate when someone runs at marathon.
Have fairly happy and fairly healthy and inquisitive and kind and active and friendly kids.
You know, winning at parenting basically. Winning at life even, most of the time.
The kids? They know letters. They hug friends. They ask to be excused from the table. They say hello and good morning to strangers. They say thank you and please and your welcome and let you wipe their noses. You know, as you do.
I've met my parenting match.
(Well the other one. Annie is going to be my parenting match for the next eighteen years).
The other parenting match.
Potty training is a sh*t head.
And said sh*thead is the fodder for the new Mommy wars and is bringing back some PTSD fro the breastfeeding Mom guilt days.
We were so awesome back in November. Yes. November. 10 months ago. When we took the first "hey he's reading a book on the potty" cute photo.
And sit he did.
And sit he will.
But the real deal? The stuff that big-boy-omg-you-need-to-do-this-for-preschool-entrance? He's not made of it.
He can. He even will.
But also, he won't.
And I'm officially the Mom at preschool whose kid is supposed to be totally potty trained who is at her wits end.
I've gone all Kelly Mom on the internet for potty training information.
Why this? What that? What cues are we missing? Are we asking often and correctly? Did we do pantless weekend right? Did we do stickers and reward bowl accurately? Are we teaching or forcing?
And what genius invented auto-flush toilets, AKA TODDLER'S SATAN.
We are only napping in pullups to catch said poops. We are using potty watches so he can have ownership.
We switched to a school for many reasons, but one being that the new one had a little more understanding of a potty policy.
We travel with huge Ziploc bags. Everywhere for costume changes.
We visit the potty before, after, during every transition.
We don't take no as an answer.
And damned if he doesn't come home with poop pants.
And on the way to school say... "THE POOP. IT'S COMING"
We are working the washer's sanitize cycle to its max.
I'm sure the teachers hate us.
I hate this part of us.
Never turn to the internet message boards for potty training answers.
Apparently, I'm a coddling 1st world mom who is lazy.
There's something developmentally wrong with our little dude.
There's something parentally wrong with me.
I should have done this 18 months ago.
I'm giving him life long control issues.
You know, anonymous or known advice giver because I LOVE rinsing undies. And doing laundry. And did I mention the number of Clorox wipes we go through? And said Ziploc baggies?
And clearly I'm setting him up for a lifetime of OCDbulimixetyrexia.
It's enough to mess with an already stressed Mom mind with school and life and job changes.
Remember when we were talking about pumping and supply and latching and bleeding and crying and block feeding and the witching hour and fenugreek and more pumping and OMG is my kid starving during the breastfeeding wars?
Just know that some of us are doing the best we can.
PS, I know what to do. I've read all the articles. All the surveys and advice and tricks and means. Don't pass them on. Please. They make the mama fur bristle on my back.
Can you judge this face?