Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Poo-Pooing the Potty

ElmopottyMarch 30, 2010

I hate toilets. I have always hated them. I don’t like being near them, I don’t like touching them, I get out of the bathroom as fast as I can, especially public bathrooms. This has all been very amusing to my husband, who was eager to see how I would handle diapers, poop and all things smelly baby related. Multiply that by three and I was in fear for my delicate nasal sensibilities my whole pregnancy. Surprisingly, diapers and their inevitable contents have not been that difficult for me. Changing them is no picnic, but I can do it pretty quickly, and my husband is kind enough to empty our fast filling diaper pail often.  But looming ahead of us is something I have always dreaded even more than diapers and toilets.  

Potty training. 

I am so not looking forward to this. I have heard that if you start potty training a child at two years old, they will be trained by three. And if you start training a child at three, they will be trained by three. Mine are a little over two now, so I am not in any big rush to get this going. But watching the Elmo’s Potty Party dvd, or whatever it’s called, daily, has apparently been so inspiring to my kids that they are starting to ask about sitting on the potty. While Elmo’s daddy sings, “Put your body on the potty”, and, “Everyone has accidents”,  I watch as my now toddlers look around for the potty door in our house that Elmo comes out of so they can go in it. This has resulted in tape around the door knob safety device so they cannot pop it off and go stick their hands in the toilet. Ewww. There is not enough anti bacterial gel to overcome that.

My husband has had potty parties a few times when he has gotten the kids to tell him they have a poopy diaper. Once he changes their diaper, they follow him in a pied-piper-like procession that moves to the bathroom where the offending excrements are ceremoniously deposited in the toilet and one of the little ones gets the privilege of flushing it. They wave ‘bye bye’ to the poop and march back into the living room proudly to tell me all about it. I informed him that he can continue this, but I will not be following up with it during the day. 
And perish the thought of the day I will have to toss perfectly good Cheerios or Apple Jacks into the commode for aiming practice. The only thing worse than being in the bathroom is being in the bathroom with food. That’s gotta be about six kinds of wrong, or more. But hey, perhaps it’s a good dieting strategy. I mean, who wants to eat in a bathroom?

I suppose it’s all going to happen whether or not I like it. But I can’t imagine liking it. Sigh. In the everlasting words of Elmo’s daddy, “What you gotta do, do”. 

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