I think I am a pretty good parent. I try to be, at least. The kids tell me I am, and they usually follow that up by asking for things. That is good enough for me though. I am good with living in denial. So when I prepped for a month for the potty training, I assumed I was ready. I had the right underwear, although still no Minions. A sticker book and stickers, I was ready to go. I even had a bowl of candy on back up. My ace in the hole was Sesame Street. We don't watch tv in the house, so when we allow the kids to turn on a DVD, it is a magical day. Elmo, who youngest calls la-la, was my go-to if things got way out of control. I didn't realize how bad it was going to get. Even Elmo couldn't help me.
I had such great visions, as all of my plans typically start out. Youngest would plop down on his potty and tinkle. He would smile at me, because I am the best mommy ever, and I had shiny motorcycle stickers for him. He would choose the green one since that is his favorite color and place it gently into his new Spiderman journal. Then, I would show him his brand new Minion undies. He would put them on, and we would hug. I would be so proud of my big boy. You know those "Nailed It" pinterest photos? This is what our potty time looked like:
I took off youngest's diaper, and realized there was a surprise waiting for me, which wouldn't be a big deal but daddy didn't replace the empty wipes. So, I begged the boy to not move. With his diaper half off, I had to run and grab the wipes (all the while cursing daddy out). We handle the wipes disaster and I showed youngest the potty he was to sit on. He looks petrified. At first, I think he is confused, so I help him put his bottom on the soft, foam circle. The child started screaming so loud I thought the seat was burning him. He didn't move though, he just sat there and wailed, with tears rolling down his cheeks. It was as if he was superglued to the seat. Youngest child listens quite well for a child of twenty six months old. I told him to sit on the potty, so he he stayed. He was just very unhappy about it. To the point that he was bawling his eyes out. I tried breaking out the sticker book. I had a multitude of stickers. I was so prepared for this, I thought. I showed him the race cars, the doggies, the motorcycles, the dinos, the hedgehogs, the police cars, the potties, all of them. The potty stickers made him go into hysterics. Mom of the year choice, right there. In between sobs, he chose a black kitten. Youngest wanted to take it off the page himself, and it ripped. This made him cry even harder, yep it was possible. I took the kitten sticker and gingerly stuck the kitten head to the Spiderman printed page. I then had to attempt to match the rest of the kittens body to its head as youngest child screamed his off. It was not turning out to be a pinterest worthy moment. After I got the cat body pieced together, I relented. Pulling his Batman underwear onto his tiny, shaking body, I took the baby off the potty. He collapsed into my arms and just laid there. Had I just mentally scarred him for life? Would it had been different if he had Minion underwear? Should I have used la-la? Why the hell did I forget about the candy. I am such a screw up. I totally dropped the ball on potty training.
Youngest child sat on my lap for a long while. I pondered the fact that he was only in underwear (not minion) and still had not used the potty. Finally, he climbed down, and ran over to his rocking chair. He sat on it and pointed to the television, "La-La" he said. I looked at him and sprang at the opportunity. I shook my head at pointed at the potty, "No la-la unless you are on potty." He lost it. Not the typical fit two year olds have when you tell them they are not allowed to get a popsicle before dinner. An honest to god, you just killed Big Bird, you rotten person, fit. I didn't even try to negotiate. I caved with a quickness. I put la-la on and listened to the tunes on Elmo's World cover the screams of the child in Batman underwear kicking his legs on my floor.
Maybe next week we will try again. I am still searching for the Minion underwear. Perhaps that is where the secret lies. He loves those little things. Minion stickers too. Perhaps a Minion potty. We will crack the code. Either that, or my kid will be twenty-five, in diapers, watching Sesame Street. All because I could not find Minion underwear.