potty training and a pig rides the subway

Potty training.

It's been hanging out in the back of my mind.  It creeps to the front every so often and I push it back; replacing it with the many other things that seem to be more important for us right now.

And then it comes back.

It comes back to the forefront when I spend close to a car payment on diapers for the month.  When I wrestle Cole down with both of my arms and one of my legs to change his diaper when he's playing and doesn't want to stop.  When his "surprises" are about as big as my husband's (I assume, folks.  Just an assumption). When I fumble for a diaper in the middle of the night for Matilda and end up grabbing a size 5 instead.

I  would fit in a size 5.  That's also another reason this needs to be addressed.

But I am scared.  Just downright scared of potty training my strong-willed son.  I've heard the stories.  The philosophies.  The rewards.  The aftermath.  And ::whine:: I don't wanna do it.

But the boy is two and a half.  And although I know not to compare; I do.  Most friends I know with little ones around this age have some sort of potty training under their belts.  A number one trained but not number two.  A potty trained princess at home, but not in the car.  A fully potty trained little boy at 22 months.

22 MONTHS?

I figure potty training is like labor.  You know?  How every woman that's been in labor forgets how bad it really is.  And how we definitely don't tell a first-time preggo how bad it is if we do remember. 

It's got to be like that.

It's got to be the worst thing you've ever done until you're done and then you can't believe you didn't try to train them at 3 months.  Or hell?  Why not try straight out of the womb.  I've seen cats do it. . .why not newborns?


and he doesn't even need undies

Friends of mine swear on the whole "lock yourself in the house for a weekend and spend an entire 72 hours cleaning your child's accidents" method.  ::shudder:: Really?  That's the way to do it?

It takes me over a half hour to get into a pool.  I go in by the inch.  Never a jumper.  Never a diver.  Always angry if splashed.  I'm not sure this whole, head-first, put on the new undies and see what happens method is for me.

I bought cute undies.  Little Thomas ones because that's our newest addiction.  That, and. . .shhh nascar.  They make little nascar undies.  We have them.  They're ready and waiting.  I'm just dragging my potty training feet.

We have a potty.  A little blue potty with a high-back seat for comfort.   He sits on it to watch TV.  I suppose that's a start. 

We have the potty book.  You know.  THE potty book.  We read it all the time.  He likes it.  Likes pointing to his bum and saying "pooh pooh."  [Side Note: I like to spell 'poo' like Pooh Bear.  I think that's cuter.] 

He's super interested when anyone else has to go to the potty.  You claim rock-star status when you announce that you have to go to the potty and you return.  He'll even ask. . ."mum, potty?"  As if to say, "Ma, how'd everything go for you up there?"  Such a kind and thoughtful boy.

But he has zero interest in using the potty himself.  He'll sit with a pooh pooh in his pants for days, if I'd let him.  He will clearly lie to you if you ask him if he's poohed in his pants.  "Nope mum.  Nope pooh pooh.  Play trains now."

So what am I to do?  All of the precursors to training are missing, but he's at the age everyone says to try.  Is it worth having the weekend from pooh pooh hell and see how it goes?  Are you just saying that because you'd want to read about it here?  That's no fair. . .

When did you potty train and how'd you do it?  Rewards? Horror stories? Seriously. . .I don't want any "labor barely even hurt" stories.  I know better. . .and so do you.  I can handle the truth.

::in my whispery voice::  I am sort of excited to see my mom's face the first time Cole let's one rip on her carpet, though.  I'll keep the camera close for that. . .

I got away a few days ago.  I went to the Red Sox with a good buddy of mine.  The game was horrific but still a good time.  Here are a few pictures. . .without children.

our view. 
unfortunately, you can't see the woman sitting in front of me
wearing an "eeyore loves the red sox denim jacket"
they actually do make something for every red sox fan.

always a bit toothy.
but you get the idea.

Cole asked me to take his rubber pig to the game.
I figured he deserved a seat on the subway.
and a picture to document his first red sox game.