Potty Training: I Am So Over This Milestone

~By Karen Alpert

Oh shit.  Literally.  It’s potty training time in my house, aka time to follow my kid around with a bottle of carpet cleaner wearing a hazmat suit. My daughter, on the other hand, hasn’t worn anything in days. Correction: she’s worn rain boots, a princess crown, a cape (quite the potty training hazard), and occasionally a pair of big girl underpants.

I used to love looking at her cute little tushy. But let’s just say the first time you see a streak in your kiddo’s underpants, you no longer want to take a bite of that adorable little bum anymore. Don’t get me wrong: it’s still adorable, just not edible. Her nudity reminds me of my first days as a mom — I walked around the house topless for months as I got used to the whole breastfeeding thing. Of course, I was pretty psyched to show off my newly giant bazoombas, even if they did double as vending machines.

But I digress, something I’m very good at. Potty training has been a predictably crappy experience, with a few unforeseen hazards. Just the other day we were having a lovely time in Starbucks when suddenly Zoey uttered those five dreaded words, “I have to go potty.” This meant we had exactly negative 10 seconds to get to the restroom. I mowed down anyone and everyone in my path to get there with my human poop-machine — men, women, grandmas, grandpas, nuns, people in wheelchairs … nothing could stop us.

Phew, we made it. I held her over the potty and waited. Nothing. I listened closely for the beloved tinkle of pee-pee in the water below and angels singing in the heavens above, but to no avail.

Me: Do you have to go?

Zoey: No.

Me: Are you sure?

Zoey: No.

Just for shits and giggles, I tried something else.

Me: Do you want a puppy?

Zoey: No.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. To make potty training even more difficult, she currently has a one-word vocabulary.

Plus, she was petrified she was going to fall in because her mini tushy is minnier than the venti toilet seat at Starbucks, so I continued to hold her there as she death-gripped the toilet seat. There’s not enough hand sanitizer in the world to make this okay. I’m one of those people who does as much as I can with my elbows in a public restroom, as if my elbows can’t catch the same communicable diseases as my hands. Needless to say, watching her hold onto the seat was pure torture.

At this rate, who knows how long potty training will ensue. For now, I’ve taken the diapers out of the diaper bag, but I’ve added six pair of pants and panties for accidents, a one-pound bag of jellybeans for bribery, a vat of hand sanitizer the size of Rhode Island, and a handle of vodka to help me deal. This does not mean I’m an alcoholic. It means I’m a mom. With a toddler.

Karen Alpert is a freelance copywriter and mother of two who writes the hilarious blog Baby Sideburns.

We got the cute pic from our friends from mystery-solved.