You might not have any kids. You might not even like kids. So you might think you have zero desire to read a post entirely devoted to potty training.
Fair enough.
You'd be missing out. Why? Because the correct title of this post should probably be More examples of Mel being an idiot, or Mel thinks the day her ten year old comes clean about his online gambling addiction has to be better than this. Or even, Do you think my sixteen year old could still get a date to prom if he's rocking a disposable Mickey Mouse under his cargo shorts?
I've learned a few things so far. Please, take these incredibly obvious failures of mine and laugh.
First, potty treats. We went the bribery route. Did anyone doubt I'd take another path? I would advise you don't buy your absolute favorite candy to do the job. Phin is pretty much a mini Mel in some ways. We run into walls, we think the fastest way to make friends at a party is to get down on all fours and start meowing like a cat and we love all things gummy. So when he picked out a giant bag of gummy candy and M&Ms for his potty treat jar I was all, "Yeeeahhhh!" Or it might have been one of those moments I wanted to channel my inner Ryan Lochte broness and let a Jeah escape. Maybe.
Five days later his jar was empty, he had only used the restroom four times and that postpartum cellulite on my butt started taking on a life of it's own. I swear I heard my husband softly singing "Gummi Bears! Bouncing here and there and everywhere. High adventure that's beyond compare. She's a Gummi Bear", while I crawled into bed last night. He swears all the food dye got to my brain. We're going to try again with those crappy black and orange taffies that the kid hating houses give out on Halloween.
You want another gem we learned the hard way? Don't start potty training on a day you'll be out of the house. I knew this one. My husband, however, thinks trial by fire is the best way to do anything. You would think firemen have the same approach to life, right? Not when a two year old pees all over the inside of the fire engine they're giving tours of. Suddenly they are the most cautious and judgmental group out there. That sucked. I hid in a bathroom with Phin while Jared took over. A bathroom Phin had just used ten minutes before the tour. JUST USED! Well played Phin.
Don't compare. Really, just don't. There was a nice little humble brag from someone on facebook about potty training the other day and my hormonal, sleep deprived self was all "Suck it!" to the screen. Then I wanted to post about how my child never comes out of his room without knocking, takes four hour naps and has half of the Oxford English Dictionary memorized. That sucker is two volumes and requires a magnifying glass.
Instead I ate another handful of gummy candy and cried while watching The Voice. Some of those people are just so damn good.
Anyway. Comparing = unhappy. Unhappy= more candy consumption. More candy consumption = more cellulite. More cellulite = more eighties cartoon theme songs running through your head. Who knows what body issues my subconscious is dealing with if I start hearing music from Fraggle Rock or even worse, The Snorks.
So go forth toddler rearing humans! Master the art of the child intestine! Tame the toilet hater! Win the respect of fire engine tour givers everywhere!
And make sure you have enough potty treats to console yourself with after the little one gets in bed.
And because Gray got no name time in this post, a picture. Because it's easier to take those when the subject isn't trying to steal gum out of your mouth.
