Potty Like a Rock Star

There comes a time in each person's life where they must embark on a quest of personal betterment. Some of these quests are undertaken as part of the growing process, something to assist us in becoming fulfilled individuals. Others are thrust upon us by others, improvements that will not only make our own lives easier, but help those around us live more comfortable lives. It is from this latter category that the work my son has begun has presented itself.

It is time, once again, for potty training.

Potty training is a mixed bag of emotions for me. On the one hand, success will mean no more diapers, wipes, and whatnot (and make no mistake, I am quite ready to be done with whatnot). On the other hand, it further signifies that my baby boy is growing up into a little man. Also, it means I'll be dealing with the cleanup of bodily fluids on a more regular basis, which is not among my favorite things (Likes: Long walks on the beach, country music, pie, and cleaning up when someone drops a deuce in their Fruit of the Looms - nope, not me. Well, I like pie, but not the rest.)

We decided that since the family was off for an extended time over the holidays, we would try something drastic at first. We covered an entire room in industriul plastic sheeting, couch and all, put the Moose in a pair of briefs, put a potty chair in the middle of the room, and then watched. This seemed like a good idea at first, but we quickly ran into a couple of snags. First, apparently a room covered in plastic is way more fun for running and jumping that a regular room, so the tape holding the plastic down quickly gave up its hold. Second, briefs don't contain a lot of action, which meant that the adult in the room was responsible for constantly watching the boy's nether regions for any sign of a breach that he may be put on the potty. Seriously, I spent so much time looking at little boy underwear I felt like I should be putting on one white glove and bidding on the deformed remains of famous circus freaks.

We gave that up and moved on to the more standard plastic coated underwear for the boy, and that worked out a lot better. Now I at least have a chance of recognizing that he's going before we get a full flood. So now we proceed, occasionally ask if he wants to sit on the potty, and other than that we just let him recognize when he's wet or whatever. This is actually a boon for me, because the only thing that keeps him sitting is watching Looney Tunes on my iPhone, so I get to pass that along in the process. The only catch thus far is that he confuses numbers one and two, so he'll say, "I'm poopy" when he's just wet, and then tell me he's wet only for me to discover that he's made a major transaction. Not a pleasant surprise, but all part of the process, so there you go.

The good news is that unlike many quests of personal betterment, this one has a definite end in sight. I'm personally guessing this end will be within months, if not weeks. Eventually he'll get it, we'll buy him some more real underwear (my little man is not growing up in a world of tighty whiteys - do they make boxers for two to three year olds?), and we can move on to spending our money on things other than gigantic packages of Huggies and a case of diaper wipes.

I'm going to go out on a limb and guess it'll probably go toward carpet cleaner for a while.