I HATE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hate.
It.
We are still in the midst of Chad working weekends on a really big project and he came home last Sunday to me ranting and stomping and sweating because I had cleaned up no less than 4 accidents in an hour. An hour, people. That's practically impossible. I couldn't pee 4 times in an hour unless I'm pregnant and even then, I'm not so sure.
I'd say "Max, do you need to go potty?" He'd say no and then pee. On the floor, in his high chair, in his car seat, on me. Wherever. Just as long as is wasn't in the potty.
So as Chad walked in, I lamented about the horrible-ness of this all, once again, spitting and spewing because this child is smart, he's in control of his body, he knows where to put his pee, he has the ability to do it, yet he choses not to. The straw that broke the camel's back was when I went to spank him and noticed the welt on his booty from the last time (10 minutes ago) and I crumbled. Yep. Wasn't going to do it. Right then and there I decided that I was not going to beat my child over his potty training- he'd get it when he was ready and I'd offer him diapers until then. Fine.
Chad was ok with this- assured me I wasn't a bad mom and that I wasn't failing and so I went down to the storage shelves and got his big trash bag of diapers and brought it up the stairs. I asked him if he wanted to wear diapers and he gave me a resounding yes. (I was half-hoping that he'd be mortified to be put back in diapers like a baby and that it'd sent him running to the potty, but no such luck.) So after his bath, I put a diaper on him, and he danced around the house like he was the cat's pajamas. He kept saying "Look at my diaper Mom, do you love it?" He was proud, like really proud. And off he went to bed in his diaper, happy as a clam.
Later that night, Uncle Eli, Max's manny, came home and I told him that Max would be in diapers the next day. Eli told me that I was crazy and that I shouldn't give up, but in a really nice calm way. So then I was BESIDE myself, fretting about what to do. Oh the angst. What was right? I spent most of the night wishing that these children came with manuals and a very descriptive section on potty training that said something like: "The optimal potty training age for this child is 23 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days." Now wouldn't that be nice?
So I think the spirit of the Lord fell on my that night because I woke up renewed- with restored grace and patience for my little potty training fool. I even wondered if Lamentations 3:22-23 was referring to potty training: "Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
So when Max woke up, I walked in his room and got him out of his bed, took him potty, as was our ritual, took his diaper off and dropped it in the trash and put his undies on him. He asked where his diaper was and I told him it was in the trash, and neither one of us said another word about it.
And the child hasn't had accidents anymore. His only hiccup is trying to figure out when he's done done when going #2. Like he does his business then he says he's done and he gets down and gets cleaned up, and then he goes a little more in his pants.
AND I don't have to ask him if he has to go- he tells me. I don't even make him go unless it's nap time, and he's been waking up dry like a champ. Seriously people, how do you explain that?
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