With the other two boys I began potty training immediately following their second birthday. It worked out both times that Mike deployed right around that time. Mike was gone. We had nothing to do. Might as well sit on the floor in the bathroom and read books. Why not?
Austin turned two in May. Every time the thought of potty training has entered my mind, I immediately distract myself with something more pleasant, like cleaning the kitchen, or painting trim, or scraping dried spaghetti sauce off the table with my fingernail. The thought of all the money we could save not buying diapers hasn't affected me a bit. Not a bit.
And here's why:
With four children, all I can think about when I consider potty training is the huge logistical nightmare it will be when we are out in public. My hands will be full with a baby, a diaper bag, a stroller, a purse, Ty, and whatever else. At the most inconvenient time Austin will say: "Potty!" You and I both know that the restrooms will be at the opposite end of the store, that Ty's blood sugar will be low, that the stroller won't fit into the stall, that the toilet will be nasty, that Austin will touch everything, that my purse will be unzipped and my phone fall in the toilet, that Jack will refuse to go into the ladies room, that Brady will be hungry and Ty will play peek-a-boo with Austin who will then fall into (or off of) the toilet. Oh and I won't have remembered to bring any spare underwear. Because I never do. I just don't get excited about details like that. It's almost like I enjoy not being prepared.
I'm stressed just typing all of that. dang. I need to write more blog posts about how the gentle breeze makes the leaves above my head dance as I gaze up at them from my hammock... then writing wouldn't make me so tense.
Back to potty training. You know. You know that scenario is not total fabrication. It could happen. It pretty much has, with just a few variations.
The other night Mike took Austin upstairs to get him ready for bed. They are up there for a little bit then hollers for me to come see.
I ran up. He was right. The sight was worth doing a flight of stairs.
After taking off Austin's diaper Mike asked him if he wanted to try and go potty. --Mike has this thing about boys learning to use the toilet like a man. Meaning pee standing up; (I consider this phase three out of four of potty training.)
Mike stood behind Austin, put him on the stool, pointed him in the right direction and waited. Austin groaned and grunted a couple times, but no pee-pee. They waited a little longer, then Mike felt it was time to transfer him to the shower before something went awry. Mike has a rather healthy fear of naked children, and his spidey sense had just gone off when he began to smell something nasty. Best thing would be to get this child into a controlled environment.
But it was too late. Mike looked back at the toilet and there, on the stool was, well, a stool.