If I had three wishes this very moment, this is what they’d be:
1. Eternal life
2. World peace
3. That the Potty Fairy would whisk Asher away as he sleeps and toilet train him by tomorrow morning
While I hold no illusions about the situation in the Middle East, nor do I expect the portrait of me in the attic to suddenly begin aging in my stead, I really was hoping to be done with all this evacuation nonsense by the time Baby’s born. Alas, Asher has been reluctant to say the least, shrieking in protest at the mere suggestion of peeing on the toilet. Of course, I don’t want to traumatize or torture him in any way, but I seriously fear having two in diapers.
(Bonus point: If he’s done by the time he starts preschool in three weeks, it would mean he gets to stay the extra hour and a half each day for "Lunch Bunch" – an ultra-elite group of coprological cognoscenti united by their ability to maintain perfect bladder and bowel control so as to not inconvenience the team of educators who deem tushie-wiping past noon beneath them.)
Fortunately, we have made some major progress this week.
The secret, which I’d forgotten till Abby reminded me, was making him a Chart. A simple piece of paper taped half-ass to the bathroom wall and a packet of Cars stickers was all it took to get him to park his little butt down on the toilet seat and wait for the inevitable to happen. When he peed, we threw a party and he got a sticker. Hallelujah. (Hmmm... I wonder... if I made Dan a sticker chart, would he finally remember that garbage days are Tuesday and Friday?)
So far, Asher has five stickers; impressive, to be sure, but the process is nowhere near complete. When I think about how much I’m dreading the long, dark months of poopy underwear that lie ahead, I want to just send him off to the same guy who took our incontinent, disobedient puppy for three weeks of in-house spirit-breaking.
By the way, why didn’t anybody ever tell me to save those detachable urine-deflectors that came with the potty seats we bought when we were training Abby? It’s so hard to muster enthusiasm for Asher’s success when more pee hits me than the bottom of the bowl.
Is he too little to stand? How exactly does that work? Anybody? Help! Boys baffle me...