Potty Training

Picture from my husband's cousin's company, fleeces. Poop shaped pillows now available through Amazon. Check out the corn log

I always thought the stay-at-home-mom world was disproportionately obsessed with potty training. There are so many do's and don't's and boot camps and what not floating around the mommy blogs and pinterest. It seems to be toilet training is an Event.

Of course, I think humans in general are a little obsessed with feces. Really, just say the word poop out loud and you will probably find yourself smiling. Try it now.

Fine, you managed to suppress the urge to simply prove me wrong, but the instinct was there. Poop is pretty much universally funny. I was telling some students about this once and a kid told me to say it randomly during a test. Totally did it. And it was awesome. 

Of course it becomes a little less funny once you start potty training. Actually no, it is just as funny, but not until enough time passes. Like when you are chilling with your sister as your kids are playing in the outdoor play place and you hear the distressed tears of your two-year-old crying "Potty!" over and over.

She gets very upset when she has an accident.

We rush around the corner to the restroom while all the mommy onlookers give me sad yet knowing eyes, silently wishing me good luck against the inevitable. I appreciated it because they could have been looks of disgust considering the happy glossy caterpillar slide was close to getting a shower of the urinary variety. 

The caterpillar escaped without incident but Sleeping Beauty was not so lucky. She not only received a thorough wetting but an unexpected treasure. I came prepared for this eventuality with a fresh change of clothes. A part of me was even a little happy because now she was going to wear the outfit I picked instead of the interesting ensemble she put together that morning.

All happiness and humor disappear a short ten minutes later when she had a blowout of breast milk proportions. All playground equipment was unscathed but my arm was not so fortunate. Then I was forced to make some decisions. I didn't want to expose my half-naked daughter to the masses while I retrieved my keys and stroller from my sister's watchful care but there was no clear alternative since I had nothing but a severely soiled toddler on my person. Not even my phone to call for reinforcements. So I swallowed my disgust, thanked the Lord we had the generous private family bathroom instead of the ladies' room, and did a bit of laundry. I'm sure my sometimes homeless Grandma W would be proud. 

Wearing a damp skirt and a smile from going commando, my daughter and I make our way back to home base and praise the designers of the San Tan mall for having all the children's clothing stores lining the play area. A quick $5 later I have a happy girl in a new skirt and the distinct impression that I might not be cut out for this motherhood gig. 

Yet at the same time, I am insanely proud at how quickly and easily the little peanut figured it all out. I love the sweet way she says, "I did it!" and "pannies!" It always has an exclamation point when she says it, even though she leaves out the t. I also love how she started to hoard her M&M's, demanding her reward each time, but storing them in a pan at her toy kitchen and savoring them slowly throughout the day. I also have new love for my little carpet cleaning machine that was formerly used in only canine capacities.

Though the best thing to come from all of this mess? Canceling my diaper subscription to amazon. Now I can buy more crap instead of just dealing with it.