Once upon a potty

Emerson has decided she's ready to start potty training. Of course everyone else in the world knew she was ready months ago. Perhaps it was the fact that she would regularly go get her own pull-up, take off the dirty one, wet wipe herself, put on a clean pull-up and take the wet one to the trash. Or perhaps it was the fact that about two seconds after she "dirtied" her pull-up she would have a nervous break down if I did not immediately drop everything, run at break neck speed to get her diaper and do a dive roll back to her in order to get her all cleaned up. My family kept telling me that she was ready and I in turn, kept telling her, but true to form, she wanted to do it her way.

So, here we are. Emme has made up her mind that she has to get potty trained so that she can go to school like Carson. She is a great big social butterfly and loves the busy, hub-bub of the school every morning. When we had to leave Carson at school on Monday with all those cupcakes, she begged me to leave her there too. I had to explain to her that you have to poop in the potty before they will let you go to school. Sobbing in her car seat she explained to me that she "od-a-ready diddddd poop in her potty." Which is true, but she only did it once, by accident, about two weeks ago. I re-explained that you have to do it everyday and you have to wear panties before they will let you come in. "I got panties momma, I wear my panties, I pom-ise", she said. I had to break the news that you have to not pee-pee in the panties while you wear them. "Oh", she said and that was that.

So, on went the panties and deep breath, she's doing pretty good. Oh, there's been plenty of accidents and Dobie and I have taken to traveling with an extra set of clothes, but I think we are making progress. I have taken to offering "potty presents" if she goes for long spells without having an accident. And today, I offered up an eye shadow kit if she pooped in the potty. I meant it to be an incentive when she needed to go later. But she wanted it so badly that she kept trying to make herself poop so that she could get the prize. I swear I thought she was going to give herself a hemorrhoid from pushing so hard all day. At one point, she came running to Dobie and I and announced that she had pooped- so hooray, clap, clap, give me the eye shadow. When I asked if I could see it, she said that she had already flushed it. It was a total lie of course, and she stomped off, eye shadow-less. She did eventually produce the world's tiniest poop-ette and received her prize as promised.

As this is my second time around the potty block, I am pretty relaxed about the whole thing. She's not even three yet; she still has plenty of time. If all else fails I have a pretty good Plan B. See, I have this theory that if you go buy the biggest box of pull-ups that you can get your hands on, your child will magically be potty trained in less than 72 hours. It's one of those Murphy's Law things.

And if I must confess my most deepest, darkest secret, then the truth is, I'm not in any hurry for this to all to end. I know that being potty trained heralds the end of babyhood and that all too soon I will miss the familiar swish-swish sound that only a diapered bottom can make. She is the last baby I will ever have and soon she won't be a baby at all. Of course, potty training aside, she is already well on her way to growing up. Whether I like it or not.