Potty Training

I feel like I've finally joined the ranks of true motherhood: potty training officially began nine days ago.

I wrote a long post about all of the preparations, hard work, and drama, but decided that it was perhaps too much info for the average reader to want to read. So I'll just keep that for myself.

We've done the cold-turkey method and didn't leave the walls of our home for a week. It was much harder on me than it was on Grant (he got to watch movies all day!). He picked up on it really fast, though I still had several meltdowns and thought it might never work out.

Being pregnant during this process is a little of a hindrance. I'm easily frustrated, more emotional, and am sick and tired of being cooped up. But it's so worth it! Bending over to change his diaper was a major problem, too, so I won't complain.

I have prayed a lot in the last few months about this. I know that God has much more important things to think about, but I also knew I needed help and that He would be more than willing to help me out. This pregnancy has been physically and emotionally miserable for me since day one, and I knew I didn't stand a chance by myself. I've definitely felt extra patience, and Grant has been really great about it all. Thank heaven for answered prayers!


YOU KNOW YOU'RE POTTY TRAINING WHEN...  (By Chelsea Frandsen)

• You spend two-thirds of your waking hours in the bathroom (add pregnancy on top of that, and you pretty much live there day and night).
• The house is covered in spread-out towels to catch any surprising accidents.
• The bathroom is littered with toys, books, crayons, paper, toilet paper strips that have been ripped off by an overly-exuberant potty trainer, stickers/charts, hand towels, hand soap all over the sink, and a bunch of other randomness.
• You tuck in your potty trainer in the middle of the night and he moans the word poop in his sleep.
• Your potty trainer (perhaps just the male variety) adds the words poop, stink, and poopy diaper to everything he says, including people's names. Those words used alone make up the most hilarious punchlines to all of his jokes.
• Hearing "I pooped!" has become the dreaded nightmare of your day (and understandably so!).
• You hate to admit it, but hearing those same words have also become the sweetest two words your ears have ever heard.
• You can't remember how to have a conversation that doesn't contain (or revolve around) bodily functions and excrement.  
• The party you hold each time there is pee or poop in the toilet is as big as a golden wedding anniversary.
• You find yourself desperately bartering with a two-year-old and promising things that are way out of proportion for the situation at hand. Luckily they don't usually know how to work the system as well as an older child would, or you'd have given them the keys to your car by now.
• Your child hasn't been fully dressed for days (nor have you, for that matter).
• You wake up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and grab for the stickers to reward yourself when you're finished.

I'm hoping I'm now on the downside of our adventure. Grant even occasionally does it all himself, and the only tell-tale sign is that he can't get the underpants back up. At least he's taking ownership now, right?

Women since the dawn of time have been doing this disgusting, but necessary, job. There's just no way around it.

So do I really feel like I deserve accolades or a medal? 

Yes. Yes I do.

I'm hoping for the Medal of Honor.

I've displayed "conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his or her life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against an enemy of the United States," and I dare anyone to challenge my qualifications.

I'll be submitting my application later this week.