Potty training has been stalled for the last few months. The best advice given was to give it a rest, since, obviously, we were getting no where in September. We’ve left it up to Austin, and he is happy as can be wetting himself.
I’m getting antsy. Every way I turn I’m changing a diaper. And, even though, it’s nearly nine months away, I’m already feeling stress about the potty training requirement for him to move up to the next preschool class. Because, honestly, I feel like it will never happen.
Then, out of nowhere, there was interest.
The other morning, we were prepping for the day. Austin and I were brushing our teeth while Everett snacked on a toothbrush. Austin stops, looks at me, and says, “I want to go potty.”
Spit dribbled from my mouth as I looked at him in disbelief. “Really??”
“Yeah. I want to use the potty.”
I throw my toothbrush into the sink and grab the nearest potty chair. “Okay,” I said, trying to reign in the excitement. I place it in front of him and proceed to help him with his pants.
He looks at it with disgust. “Not that one, Mommaaaa. I want that potty. The big potty.”
Fair enough. “Okay, let’s use that one!”
I lead him toward the potty when he stops. “Here you go, buddy.”
“No,” he mumbles and walks away, leaving me dumbfounded with potties everywhere and toothpaste still in my mouth.
Touché, son. You have me wrapped around your finger, and, apparently, it was necessary to prove it that day.
I am so over potty training.