Do you have to make a pee pee or a poo poo?
Is that a tinkle?
Tinkle, Tinkle in the potty.
And so it goes. I never thought that words like "poo" and "pee" would transition so seamlessly into my vernacular. I talk about poop and pee all day long. I'm that crazy lady in the bathroom stall next to you talking about her own shit. I kid you not. No, that really is me.
All in what seems like now as a vain attempt to get my dear little child to use the potty. It's not going very well.
My first plan, was a potty training boot camp of sorts. The weather was hot and humid and Bean loves being naked. I slathered up her little heinie with sunscreen, making sure to get in the cracks and I brought her outside with her potty. We've been talking about the potty and pee and poop for months now, so I thought that this was it. After one mess, she'd be sitting on that potty joyously. After a couple minutes out there, I ran back in to put a shirt on her. I felt like Child Protective Services would come calling and find my child nude and covered in feces wouldn't bode well in a court of law. Plus, I'm American and we are uncomfortable with nudity. I'm not French after all. So Bean was bottomless and loving it. After the first pee, she cried briefly and then continued playing. The pee running down her legs didn't bother all that much, she simply stepped over it and played somewhere else. I got her to sit on the potty and after she dutifully sat there for ten minutes singing and talking about being naked outside, I proudly handed her a pair of underwear. She was thrilled. I explained to her that every time that she sits on the potty, I will give her a pair of underwear. Her face lit up. She insisted on wearing it. Seeing my little Bean run around in her Hello Kitty undies was just too damn cute. I, did however, see the error in my thinking. Surely, she's going to soil her underwear and freak out. I was right. While sitting on the stoop, playing with her toy house, a puddle pooled underneath her and slowly dripped down the step. I swooped in and put my already bewildered child on the potty. Her little body bucked against me using all her strength against me. Tears streamed her cheeks as she tried to understand what was happening and through all the crying was a desperate plea for the fate of her Hello Kitty underwear.
I took off the underwear and gave her a new pair and told her that she just gets to hold onto the underwear. She can't wear them yet. She can only wear them after the pees or poops on the potty. My amended rules flew right over her head and she took her pink panties and put them right in her playhouse. Because that's where underwear goes.
Five more accidents later. I gave up. Bean was exhausted, hot and cranky, and so was I. I bathed her and settled her in for nap and she fell asleep clutching her underwear to her chest. I spent the rest of the week reading potty books to her and watching Elmo's Potty Time. During that time, we had exactly 1 poop, and two tiny tinkles on the potty. Surely, we turned a corner and the rest would be easy.
Wrong. Every time that she sat on the potty, I gave her a pair of underwear as a reward for her effort. The underwear was then stockpiled away in her room or worn over her diaper or over her shorts. My next guerrilla potty training experiment involved Bean wearing her very own treasured undies. Surely at this point, she'd understand the consequences or peeing or pooping in her underwear. Besides from the discomfort, she lose her underwear and the title "big girl," because as we all know, big girls use the potty (unless of course, you are very pregnant and you sneeze or if you laugh too hard , but that's a blog for another day). Bean went through seven pairs of underwear. I went through multiple floor washings and carpet cleaning. At the end of the day, we both looked like something left in a toilet bowl.
Here I am two weeks in, three potties bought, twenty-four pairs of underwear bought and one toddler who shouts at me now "Don't touch my diaper!" I think we are both scarred from our experiences.