I Made It!

Oh... Potty Training...

What can I say about Potty Training....

I can tell you that I hate it. It sucks. I wish it would go away. I wish Holynd had never decided to be trained.

I liken potty training to a very strict diet. You'll feel better eventually. It'll do everyone good, but in the beginning, it basically sucks all the fun out of life. You feel awful and you miss your life before the diet started. You start to wonder if the diet is really worth it.

Have I made anyone want to jump-up and potty training their toddler yet???

Now, the problem with Holynd and potty training is not Holynd. She's amazing. As far as #1 goes, she hasn't had an accident in weeks. She goes without being asked. She even will ask to use the potty when we are out in public. She stands up and proclaims, "I MADE IT! HIGH FIVE!". The problem with Holynd and potty training is me.

I have the worst attitude about it. I lose sleep over it. I basically have non-stop nightmares about huge accidents that I have no control over.

The first time Holynd had a bad accident was Tuesday. We were getting everyone ready to go to the doctor for our ultrasound. I knew Holynd was due "for that", but I figured that she would wait until we had her "special" Princess panties on to go. (Pull-ups. They seem to be a swear word among the potty training community. Judge if you must, but they're the only reason I'm a functioning human being. Without them, I would be in the corner, rocking back-and-forth, muttering nonsense to myself.) Well, I was getting Sloanie dressed before putting her down for a nap. Everything was fine until I heard Holynd start to sob.

"There's poop on my leg!" She screamed.

I went into the bathroom where her princess potty is and discovered what had happened. Holynd had tried to poop on the potty. However, she didn't sit all the way back and pooped all over the potty seat instead, resulting in a huge p-double-o mess. This was VERY upsetting to her. In her panic, she had tried to wipe herself off with toilet paper. This created a bigger mess and a bigger problem.

I tried to remain positive. She had tried! This was a good sign! Right????

I turned on the shower and started to clean-up. I had to leave most of the mess behind while I went upstairs to get Sloane her bottle for her nap. Upon returning to the mess, with Sloane screaming in her crib because she can't figure out why Holynd is screaming in the shower, the smoke detectors all over the house start going off.

I will repeat. The house picked this moment to catch on fire.

I stop and look around. I trust my pregnant nose enough to determine that the fire is NOT in the basement where the girls are. I stand there staring. Do I get them out? Do I go try to find the fire? Where is my phone??? We're never going to find out where we're having!!! The Lord does NOT want us to know if this is a boy or a girl!??! Why else would He let my house catch on fire at this exact moment.

I decide to run upstairs and find my phone and see if I can determine what the heck has caught on fire!

I run into the kitchen. Nothing. I run into my bathroom. (Maybe I left my flat iron on?). Nothing.

I still can't smell any smoke. I call Matt. "The house is on fire and Holynd is covered in poop!".

Meanwhile, the smoke detectors are still going off. I keep trying to figure out what to do. Do I just grab the girls and run outside?!? Mental images of me carrying out Holynd, naked and covered in poop flash into my mind.

Then, the mental image of the fireman coming into my house and seeing the poop covered bathroom pops into my head.

Now, I'm nauseated.

As I approach the bathroom where Holynd is sobbing because she thinks she is a complete pooping failure, I realize something. There's smoke coming from the bathroom.... Wait, that's not smoke, it's STEAM! FROM THE SHOWER!

For some reason, the builder of this household thought that the perfect place for a smoke detector would be right outside the downstairs bathroom door. I ran into the bathroom, shut off the shower (Holynd still screaming) (Sloane still screaming), and grab a towel to fan away the steam.

It works. No more fire.

I sat down in the hallway and think to myself. "Heavenly Father, if there ever has to be a house fire.... Please don't let it happen when Holynd is covered in poop."

I. Hate. Potty. Training.

Since then, Holynd is, again, terrified to poop on the potty. We're working on it. Meanwhile, I am still using Pull-Ups when we go out into public and at night. She wears normal panties when we're home during the day. We have to coax/bride/beg/pray to get her to even think about pooping on the potty since this experience.

I fully expect her to bring up this experience when she's older in therapy.