Maybe it’s not.
The Internet, the library and probably your mom are full of advice when it comes to potty training.
“There is no right age.”
“You were potty trained when you were 18 months old.”
“Well, it’s not like he’s going to Kindergarten in diapers.”
Over the last month, I’ve read testimonials about “The Naked Weekend.” I’ve seen warning posts by pediatric urologists about training too early. I’ve listened to moms of many children say that it’s better to start earlier than late.
I’ve taken it all into account, and my family – Mama, Dada and the Monkey – well, we decided it might be time.
Monkey knows the words.
“Mama, poo poo.”
“I tee. Tee, Mama.”
“Potty! Elmo potty! I potty!”
He’s finally learned what to call certain body parts.
“Peeeeeneees. I peeenneeeees.”
And of course, he loves to flush. (Bye, toilet paper! Bye Cheerio I was saving for later!)
So we ditched the diapers. We bought a potty with a better splash guard than the one our Pop built us. (It’s gorgeous, Pop, but the kiddo is too chubby in the bottom to fit just right.) We picked up some ridiculously cute underwear.
And we set out to try that naked weekend.
First up, we had to get Monkey used to the new potty. So we sat and played on the iPad, we ate lots of Goldfish and we sang songs.
Cool, sitting on the potty is cool.
We had already been talking about how the tee tee and the poo poo, they go IN the potty. We’ve modeled the behavior. (I peed in front of someone on purpose. This is what parenthood does to you.) We were ready for this.
Dudes, you are never ready for this.
You are never ready to watch your kid begin to squeeze one out over in the corner and see yourself rush, faster than you ever thought possible, to get him on the potty.
You are never ready to clean pee off the curtains. Twice. In one day.
And you’re never ready for how freaking excited you are when your kid makes his way over to the potty by himself, squats, and drops a deuce.
He’s sitting there, strangely relieved, wondering how this wiping thing is going to work and you’re doing the Jerry Maguire “Show Me The Money” dance on the couch.
He’s up and quietly picking through the building blocks next to the potty and you’re contemplating photographing the evidence of his triumph to send to your husband at the baseball game so he can share in the moment. (Yeah. I did.)
And then it hits you…you have to dispose of the turd. You can’t just wrap it up in the diaper and toss it in the trash. What if you try to dump it in the toilet and miss?
Thankfully, everything was disposed of properly and completely sanitized in time for round two: The tee. The tee has to go in the potty too.
There was much frustration in this department because my kid? He wants to tee standing up. Of course he does, that’s how Dada does it.
So what do I do? Ask Dada to tee sitting down? Psh, like that’s gonna happen.
Anyway, the last few days have mainly been comprised of me herding my son and his junk toward the potty several times a day, celebrating when the tee makes it into the potty and grumbling silently to myself when I have to soak it up out of the carpet instead.
He’s still bottomless most of the day and wears a pull up during sleep time, but every now and then, when the danger of leakage has subsided, he gets to wear his Big Boy Pants.
I think we’ve got lots of work to do until he’s completely ready to venture out in his Manly Drawers, but I tell you what – Mama is definitely trained now.