So HELLO! Poking my head out above water for a moment … to complain of course!! OF COURSE!
Over here I am neck deep in poop and pee. Two kids in diapers is one too many.
Once upon a time a few months ago I decided that it was Potty Training Time. Tally ho! I set the date. I bought the cute little girl underwear and a bag of Hershey Kisses for rewards. We watched Elmo Goes Potty 9,382 times. I formed my battle plan. I WAS ON IT! And day one went great! She was dry the entire day and at least made a break for it when she had to poop (she missed by a mile. But her enthusiasm! It was awesome!).
Day two? We took her to Disneyland. And she barfed at It's A Small World and three times in the car on the way home because the poor thing had the stomach flu. She then spent the better part of the week on the couch eating popsicles and watching Sesame Street and Ni Hao, Kai-Lan. She requested her underwear in the morning but after one too many accidents on the carpet I then "upgraded" to pull ups (and parked the carpet cleaner in the garage) and we've been stuck there ever since.
And therefore? Potty training got flushed down the toilet har har har.
And so last night as Sydney and I wrestled on the floor – she in a poopie pull up after a long day at the zoo, melting down into a Nuclear Tantrum after two days without a nap, and me trying unsuccessfully to divorce an insane amount of excrement from her ladyparts – it was all just too much. In my exhaustion I started internally berating myself for being a total and complete failure as a person AND a parent. I mean seriously, what kind of 31-year-old woman with a freaking master's degree cannot master the skill of coaching a terribly bright nearly-three-year-old girl into peeing and pooping on the dang potty? What does it mean that I cower in the corner any time anyone mentions transitioning to a big girl bed? Or PRESCHOOL?
Then there's the pacifier. My daughter's beloved "po-po." The number of pacifiers in our house have been dwindling over the last few weeks as I throw the ones that are chewed up into the garbage. Syd has taken to biting holes into the silicone and like any other totally anxiety-ridden mother who spends her waking hours freaking out about the million and one ways her children can be maimed or killed (what YOU don't do that?) I carefully check them before letting her have them. Just so she can bite holes in them.
As I tried to pin her down last night and clean her up and she flailed and screamed and cried and tried to KICK ME IN THE FACE I could feel myself going over the edge. I needed victory in SOME area of teaching my child life skills. I racked my brain as the tantrum escalated into Code Freakout and I pushed through bathtime anyway. I dressed her in her pajamas and somehow got her calmed down enough to read stories and play a game in her room. It was then I realized that The Last Po was chewed up … there were no more backups. We brushed her rocking horse and put a blanket on him. I explained to her that Gallop's po was broken and he is a big boy and doesn't need it anymore. But he has his blanket! And his friends to sleep with (Mickey and Minne joined him for bedtime)! And as we settled down into our routine of books in the chair with blankets I just gave it to her straight: Her Po is broken. Now she is a big girl and doesn't need it anymore. Just like her horsie! She … seemed ok with it?
And then? She went to bed. No tears. No tantrums. No drama. She hugged her blankets. She rolled around in her bed and talked to herself for a while but about 30 minutes later she fell asleep. Tonight she fell RIGHT to sleep.
I would like to shout something from the rooftops:
I FREAKING WIN THIS ONE!
(so far. fingers and toes crossed.)
(potty training starts back up soon.)