I imagine our potty training experience thus far to be something like a trip to the Winter Olympics.
We trained for months.
I poured over books and websites, bought underwear of every character and color of the rainbow and shamelessly grilled every parent of a child who was not walking around with a diaper bulging out of his or her pants.
Once my children gave our potty seat the remotest of a glance, we headed off to the games.
I, walking confidently ahead of my team, they, waving flags of Dora panties and Elmo underwear, proudly smiling to their stadium full of fans. What dedicated fans they had, showering them with sticker charts and bribes and candy and toys from the dollar store, whatever morsel they could offer to make them hungry for a medal.
The competitors started off fast and furious, each eager to take home the gold and rot their teeth with every available token of encouragement.
Soon the athletes began to show their true form.
My daughter, quite the figure skater, twirled and glided, stopping every so often for a round of applause, bowing gracefully to her audience, elegantly wearing new costumes with slim lines and easy to remove waistbands.
My son, well he began on the ski slopes, a bit of a cross country skier. He would travel along at a decent pace, of course with his eye always on the prize, a bit too busy for applause and perfectly happy wearing bulky attire. Eventually he got a bit tired of cross country and decide to see what else was out there, venturing quickly downhill. Rapidly he blew past the trail we had carefully created and had trained him to follow. He tumbled and somersaulted, drenching all of his ski apparel in the process and creating quite a stink in his wake but, nonetheless, smiling the whole way down. I, as his faithful coach, winced and rushed to his side, righting him again, cleaning up his trail and reminding him of our path. We repeated this exercise many, many times until I realized that perhaps his interest in the gold had completely dissolved.
My son and I watched on as his sister took her place on the highest pedestal, our catchy little potty anthem playing overhead, and once the singing was over she proudly showed her brother the gold medallion she had received. Unfazed by her glory, he sunk his teeth right in, checking for chocolate of course. She huffed at his unsportsmanlike conduct and stomped away with her medal glimmering hopefully.
I am unsure of what my current record says about my coaching skills, one gold and one, um, honorable mention?? Regardless of my record, I am hoping to muster up the skill to coax my son into putting his skis back on before the baby is ready to compete, or at least before the Summer Games.
I have no interest in a triathlon.
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