So today was the day. We got serious about this potty training thing. With Cohen it was easy: he danced around on the coffee table in his Thomas the Train underwear one warm June afternoon and he never went back to diapers after that. There were a few accidents here and there, but he did remarkably well (only wetting his bed once or twice ever overnight. Thank goodness because he’s on the top bunk.)
Sophie was a different story. We first attempted getting this princess acquainted with the porcelain throne over Christmas break. We read plenty of stories on the toilet, but there wound up being more poop on the floor than poop in the pot. We tried again after Ellie was born. “We’ll both be home! It will be the perfect time!” a nine-months pregnant me said. The she was born and then there was no sleep and that quickly put an end to that. We had a quick bout of training when Aunt Amy and Gaga Anne came, because Aunt Amy brings things like strawberry milk straws and fruit roll ups and rice krispy treats with sprinkles– perfect things to use as bribery. But after a shower of pee-pee on the couch cushions we gave up again.
But today, I decided to put these failures behind us and start once and for all- which meant making sure Sophie made her way to her potty seat as soon as she woke up– which meant before she got to eat breakfast, which is a big deal for Sophie. She went kicking and screaming to the bathroom until I told her she could eat her apple bar on the potty. After she was seated comfortably on the sesame street seat, her bare legs dangling and a book balancing in her lap, we waited. And read. And waited some more. I took a shower and she read more books. I read more books, and she read more books, and finally— a poop! I danced and sang a “Sophie pooped in the potty” song and she got her dora sticker and gummy bear. I kissed her and hugged her and said “You’re such a big girl!” and she said, “Say I’m a princess, mama” and so I called her “my big girl princess.”
The rest of the day was spent with me keeping an eagle eye on her as she toddled around in her bottomless pj’s. We had a few accidents, one of which included Sophie slipping through the hallway like she’s was on an oil-covered slip n’ slide. But she made it to the bathroom just as much, even requesting to go by the end of the day.
At dinner, she finished her plate before the rest of us and for some reason wanted to crawl around bare-cheeked under the table. I cringed at the thought of her bottom sliding across our crumb-covered floor. I muttered, “I don’t know what to be more scared for. Our house [touching her bum] or her butt [touching our house]
Cohen said quickly: “I’m afraid of her butt.”
That butt is tucked snugly into a princess pull-up in my bed right now, my little girl not so little any more.