Call Me A Quitter

Today was not Potty Training Day #1. Today was a social experiment to see if certain small individuals in our house were ready to surrender the diaper. 

But in order to determine whether certain small individuals are ready for such endeavors, you have to go about it as though it were a full blown head dive into potty training. That means, in order: no diaper, no clothes. A never ending  supply of apple juice, milk, and Squeeze-Its. Oven timer set to 5 minutes. Towels on the floor to prevent disaster. Go. 

So I forced fluids down his throat (not really. Squeeze-Its are a rare treat in this house and he was more than willing to take three off my hands in the course of an hour) and every five minutes we'd march to the bathroom to see what would happen. 

Five minutes turned into three after 653 accidents including one incredibly sophisticated accident in which he peed INTO the cracks of a closed drawer of the entertainment center. 

Camden did not appreciate this new regiment. Actually, he doesn't appreciate anything that isn't his idea. And this wasn't his idea. He'd scream, kick yell whatever every time we'd run to the potty. Then we'd stand there for a while and he'd yell, and then after ten minutes of him not peeing we'd leave the bathroom and he'd ceremoniously pee all over the floor. 

Rinse, repeat. For five hours. 

Did I mention how much I hate potty training? Hate. Rage. Worst thing ever. Would pay anyone any sum of money to do it for me. 

We tried Cheerios. We tried sitting. We tried standing. We tried the little potty, and the big throne. We tried fruit snack bribery. He wasn't going to have it.   

And once one particular screaming fit over me interrupting his happy little naked life to try to pee turned into a half-hour tantrum extravaganza, I made an Executive Mommy Decision. 

And quit. 

Okay so before you say "you gotta give it a couple days" and all your other unwanted advice, know this. I have successfully potty trained my older son. By myself, thank you. I can tell when they are ready. The first time we tried with Calen at exactly 2, it took all of two hours for me to know he wasn't ready. I gave up, tried again six months later, took four days. 

Same with Camden. 

He doesn't "get" it. He would pee on the floor, but not even notice that he's doing it. He'd clap the three times he peed in the toilet, but you could tell he had no idea when he was going to go. 

And, I wasn't interested in dealing with his rage. 

So call me a quitter. 

Actually, I'm not even quitting. I'm being a good mom and letting my kid win a round. See? I'm generous and caring and let my kids win once in a while.

This apparently isn't happening.

Endnote: I slapped a diaper on the victorious Camden and sent the kids upstairs to play. Ten minutes later as I'm cooking dinner I hear this from the top of the stairs:

"MOM!!!!! BROTHER POOPED! IT'S ON HIS BLANKET YOU HAVE TO SEE IT!"

And he had. And it was all over his blanket and all over his legs and required an emergency bath.

Apparently, Camden took a victory lap.  

I need a drink. 

       

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