This past week was a complete cluster. I barely had time to brush my teeth let alone write. As a result, I was cranky. I woke in the middle of the night and scribbled ideas on the cover of magazines that were sitting on my nightstand, yet never had the chance to turn those thoughts into complete sentences. Such is life when you’re potty training. A toddler, not yourself. Well, maybe yourself, I don’t know how you do things in your family. I’m not judging. I’m just saying that in my family, the 3-year-old boy child has GOT to start depositing his huge man poops in the toilet or I’m sending him to live with his grandparents until he’s 10. It’s not just for my gag reflex, but for his safety. Because if he runs from me, yelling, “I’m pooping LEAVEMEALONE!!!!” one more time, it’s gonna get real up in here.
In addition, if dude doesn’t start using the potty and stop demanding his preschool teachers change his diaper when there is but an ounce of wetness, he may very well get kicked out of school. Preschoolers are required to be potty trained and despite my promise that Brady is “diaper trained,” he has made a fool of me. I’m sure this won’t be the last time, and I have a thick skin so I’ll bounce back, but for the love of everything holy, if he hates being wet that much, one would think the potty would be the answer to his pee-pee prayers. (I’m thinking that his preference to be sans clothes, not including socks, when he does his business will only hurt his preschool potty progress. Sigh.)
In the meantime, it’s time for another trip to the potty. I promise I’ll be back soon with a more substantial post that doesn’t discuss bodily functions or visits to the bathroom. Okay, I don’t promise because if, by the grace of the toilet gods, my son actually does make a #2 that we can flush instead of shove in a plastic bag and throw in the outside garbage can, you bet your sweet potty-trained arse you’re all gonna hear about it!!