Romanticizer and Geek-in-Residence

by Lauren

Well, my son is almost 3. An age that seems both so very little and big at the same time. It is also an age I assumed would bring certain milestones (milestones are the WORST and I should know by now to never, ever think about them), including, primarily, being potty trained.  He is not.  I am expecting my second child any day now, and recall looking back at the early days of my pregnancy, as my husband and I thought about the logistics of two small children, and in our carefree ignorance, said, ‘well, by the time the next kid is born, Miles will DEFINITELY be out of diapers.’

Excuse me while I pause here to  burst forth with maddened sob-laughter….

Yeah. That was the dream and it’s…so different from this hell I’m living.

Right now, we’re in a fun transitional stage, a self-invented, masochistic ‘next step’ in my made-up potty training method,  where the kid doesn’t wear diapers while he’s awake and not in transit somewhere…which means that I am cleaning up a lot of poopy and pee-soaked pants.

For example, this happened today:



So yes,  I cleaned up that fun surprise, and let’s just say…I’m a little demoralized.  I’m surrounded by wildly differing views and schools of thoughts on how to do potty training. Some people apply zero pressure or structure to the process–others do the ‘3-day bootcamp‘ method…both sound too extreme to me.

And of course there’s the broad swath of different examples of kids I know–the ones that have been peeing in potties since 3 months old, or 4-year olds that still require diapers…it’s all over the place.

A fairy tale, clearly.  A.K.A...pure fantasy.

A fairy tale, clearly. A.K.A…pure fantasy.

I can remember back to my first year as a mom–Miles wasn’t crawling yet, and it was starting to worry me.  So much so, that I got in touch with Early Intervention services, and had a physical therapist come work with him once a week to get him on track.  While this was great, and helped ease my anxiety, I look back now, and think on  other kids that were as crawling-impaired as Miles–and DIDN’T  get physical therapy–who later went on to walk, run, and dance without issue…and I realize that I was just a victim of my own expectations (as per usual).

Maybe I can take that wise hindsight and apply it to my situation now.  MAYBE.  Wish me luck.