Potty Training

Potty training The Rock Star was easy. I tried, for about a minute, to train him around two. He was uninterested, confused, and generally unready. When he was two and a half we found out that we were adding to our family. I started getting out baby stuff. I started stocking up on diapers. I started talking about how the baby would be really little. The baby would wear diapers. Babies wear diapers. The Rock Star potty trained himself in about two seconds. And *gasp* he was dry at night. I take no credit. He did it all on his own.

But poop was another issue entirely. He was inexplicably terrified of pooping on the toilet. On his third birthday I took away the Pull Ups. Armed with a bunch of presents my mom had sent as incentive, we persevered through nasty loads in his underwear, through a serious bout of constipation that culminated in hysterical sobbing on the potty, through about a week of fecal hell. Once he actually managed to go on the toilet, he received a Grandma Gift and the rest was history.

About a month ago I asked Matthew if he wanted to go potty on the toilet. He nodded emphatically. Nothing happened. From time to time I'd ask him. He'd hop up and strain and grunt and nothing would happen. I wasn't pushing it. He's still really young and he's only very recently become verbal.

But he started going. On the potty.

Three days ago he went three times. (Of course, there were still lots of wet diapers.)

Two days ago he went three times. (Of course, there were still lots of wet diapers.)

He's been telling me that he has to go. And then actually going!

Yesterday he went three times.

At the end of the day the boys were in the bath together. I walked across the hall to grab their jammies. I heard the toilet lid and assumed it was Garrett. A couple moments later Garrett called out, "Matthew went potty!"

"He did?" I called out. Just then a naked, wet toddler wandered into the bedroom. "Did you go potty?" He nodded.

He followed me into the bathroom. The lid was up, the toilet seat was soaking wet and floating in the water was more than potty. The Little Buddy had left a little deposit. My two-and a-quarter-year-old got himself out of the tub, climbed up on the toilet and went poop. No fuss. No screaming. I didn't even know it was happening!

When I got him up from his nap yesterday he had left a major stink in his diaper for me. "You know, you can go poop on the potty too!" I'd explained. Apparently this was news to him and he needed to test my information.

I am not crazy. I know that he'll probably regress and I'll be worrying about whether or not he's going to head to kindergarten with diapers. But last night I was definitely proud of my little pooper.

Motherhood. There's no where I'd rather be than down here in the toilets trenches.