There are lots of things I can do well. Ok, at least I tell myself I can do some things well, but who knows? Maybe I have only been fooling myself for all these years.
For example, I’m pretty sure I’m a good sock matcher. I feel like I have a high success rate in that particular arena of life, and honestly, that gives me some sort of weird satisfaction.
And I will also brag about my ability to cut along a line with a pair of scissors. Do you know how many people actually have trouble doing this? Well, do you? It’s a lot. Believe me, there are grown adults who cut paper like they have been stricken with a case of palsy while traveling aboard a turbulence-fraught airplane. I am a good cutter, yet another thing to add to my resume of life skills.
And let’s not forget my ability to nap. Oh yeah, I’m the best there is at that, so don’t even mess with me. I can nap on a train, on a plane, in a house, with a mouse (ok, well that might freak me out a little, but you get the idea).
My point is that I have hit a stumbling block. And looking back at my track record, I realize this is not a one-time-thing kind of stumbling block. It’s more like the man-I-screw-this-up-every-time stumbling block. Which is really getting frustrating.
Here’s the deal. I can’t seem to potty train anything. ANY-THING. If it breathes, I can guarantee you that it will, at some point in its lifespan, pee on my carpet.
There, I feel better. The first step is admitting you have a problem, right?
As I smelled the eau de urine scent emanating from Jadon this morning, I started thinking back, and dang it, I have not been able to successfully coax any living creature into peeing in an appropriate spot on a consistent basis. (Except for me…I mean, I’m pretty good at handling that for myself. I just can’t get others to see the benefit of, say, USING A FREAKING TOILET.)
First there was Jacob. And he was easy. He wet in his underwear one time, decided it was nasty, and he never did it again. Woo Hoo! Mission accomplished. Oh wait, except for the fact that they did that at his daycare, so I can’t really take the credit.
Then came Micaela. Woo boy, that girl was stubborn. Hid behind a curtain to poop well past her second birthday.
Then Marissa. Well, she was the baby (at the time), and I was perfectly content to just keep buying diapers for her for the next several years. But once again, daycare convinced her that going to the potty would be better.
Now there are the boys. And for the love of all that is holy, they are almost 3.5 years old! We are going to outgrow Pull-Ups and graduate to Depends soon, and believe me, those are expensive—I’ve looked. There are signs that they really should be wearing big-boy underwear, too, like the fact that Jadon will actually ask for a new diaper and the fact that he can change his pull-up and his brother’s without needing help.
So what do I have to do to get them to stop waking up in a cesspool of their own pee every day? Sigh. I’m going to go cut paper now. Because I’m good at that.