The Toddler Chronicles, No. 9
Potty training has been a blast.
For years I’ve been hearing parents say different versions of “Oh yeah, my kids all basically potty trained themselves. They just figured it out all on their own one day, and BAM potty trained,” and “My kid was potty trained long before they were two years old,” and “My kid never made it past size 3 diapers. Do they make them bigger than that? Oh wow!”
Well, those parents are all full of toddler-sized crap (which is the same size as adult crap). I have learned there isn’t anything natural or intuitive about stopping one’s current activities, removing multiple layers of clothing, sitting on a porcelain throne, and dropping the night soil into it after excreting it out of oneself. Wiping has its own logistical issues.
We’ve been passively potty training for a little over a year and have only recently started to really focus on it. The latest challenge has been getting Lyla to stop whatever she’s doing and to go sit on the toilet.
In fact, just last night after bath time when she was getting dressed, I tried to convince her to put on the big girl underwear (normal underwear) and she nearly had a meltdown. She started chanting, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, noooooooo! I don’t want big girl underwear! I want a diaper!”
I inquired why she had such a request, and she said, “I don’t want to have to use the potty.”
I informed her that the potty is better than peeing or pooping on herself, to which she looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “Daaadddyyyy, if I wear a diaper then I don’t have to use the potty.”
Then she ran away from me pants-less. Donald Duck style.