Friday, April 26, 2013
Hurry, Hurry!!!
Daniel potty trained himself this week. I had been reading up on methods and was planning on giving it a half-hearted go in the time between his second birthday and the arrival of his brother, but I guess I was just wasting my time because he apparently had the whole thing under control.
Monday morning he started showing a great deal of interest in the fact that the baby girl I watch was wearing diapers. He even offered to change her for me a couple of times. (I did not allow this, both for her sake and because I didn't know how Daniel would react if she peed on him. Probably not well, given how he reacts to peeing on himself.)
Later that day, after he woke up from his nap, I was changing his diaper and he informed me that he wouldn't be needing a new one. "Daniel no baby-diaper!" He announced, and walked off in... nothing. I was sitting there contemplating how to wrestle him to the floor and diaper him without going into labor when I realized he was knocking on the bathroom door. He showed me he knew what to do, I pulled some very tiny underwear out of a drawer (good thing I impulse buy sometimes!) and that was that.
But today was the big adventure. We went to Target. Or at least we tried to go to Target. We mostly went to Target's restroom over and over again. Daniel quickly figured out that 'Target potty' is a magical place full of doting women who love to tell very small children how smart they are for using a toilet. He also figured out that if anything at any time was not going his way or even if life was starting to get slightly less interesting than was ideal, all he had to do was shout "Potty!!! Hurry, hurry!!!" and we would be off on a mad dash toward the front to deposit a molecule or two of urine in the toilet and bask in the praises of his adoring fans.
After about 5,000 of these mad dashes it was starting to get late, so we made our purchases and headed for the car, stopping at the potty one more time on the way out. We went to the car, buckled Daniel in, unbuckled him, and ran back in to the potty. Then we did that whole last sentence again. On the third trip out to the car I decided to take my chances on whether the 1/8 teaspoon of liquid would actually be able to get through his pants on to the seat and told him we were going home and he would have to hold it until we got there. He did.
My conclusions are as follows:
1) I am tired.
2) I miss diapers.
3) The un-diapered child is a dangerous manipulative force.
4) My not even 2 year old left the house in underwear and came home dry with little to no actual training effort on my part, so I should probably stop complaining and find a way to get him balanced up on the seat that doesn't require every muscle in body. Or get a bigger purse and carry the little Baby Bjorn potty with me wherever we go.
Monday morning he started showing a great deal of interest in the fact that the baby girl I watch was wearing diapers. He even offered to change her for me a couple of times. (I did not allow this, both for her sake and because I didn't know how Daniel would react if she peed on him. Probably not well, given how he reacts to peeing on himself.)
Later that day, after he woke up from his nap, I was changing his diaper and he informed me that he wouldn't be needing a new one. "Daniel no baby-diaper!" He announced, and walked off in... nothing. I was sitting there contemplating how to wrestle him to the floor and diaper him without going into labor when I realized he was knocking on the bathroom door. He showed me he knew what to do, I pulled some very tiny underwear out of a drawer (good thing I impulse buy sometimes!) and that was that.
But today was the big adventure. We went to Target. Or at least we tried to go to Target. We mostly went to Target's restroom over and over again. Daniel quickly figured out that 'Target potty' is a magical place full of doting women who love to tell very small children how smart they are for using a toilet. He also figured out that if anything at any time was not going his way or even if life was starting to get slightly less interesting than was ideal, all he had to do was shout "Potty!!! Hurry, hurry!!!" and we would be off on a mad dash toward the front to deposit a molecule or two of urine in the toilet and bask in the praises of his adoring fans.
After about 5,000 of these mad dashes it was starting to get late, so we made our purchases and headed for the car, stopping at the potty one more time on the way out. We went to the car, buckled Daniel in, unbuckled him, and ran back in to the potty. Then we did that whole last sentence again. On the third trip out to the car I decided to take my chances on whether the 1/8 teaspoon of liquid would actually be able to get through his pants on to the seat and told him we were going home and he would have to hold it until we got there. He did.
My conclusions are as follows:
1) I am tired.
2) I miss diapers.
3) The un-diapered child is a dangerous manipulative force.
4) My not even 2 year old left the house in underwear and came home dry with little to no actual training effort on my part, so I should probably stop complaining and find a way to get him balanced up on the seat that doesn't require every muscle in body. Or get a bigger purse and carry the little Baby Bjorn potty with me wherever we go.
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