Potty Training for Dummies

It started out so well.  Emily would run to her potty, do her business, and exclaim "I went pee-pee Mommy!"  Within the first week, she went number two without any urgings from me.  Her diapers were completely dry in the morning and accidents were very, very rare.

And then something happened.  I'm not sure what, but she started freaking out whenever she needed to go number two.  I thought this was a power struggle so I refused to cave into her demands.  Soon, she started having accidents galore.

Yesterday, when I was on my knees cleaning up another mess--this of the icky variety--I kind of lost it.  As I was cleaning, she went to the toilet and peed.  She came out and very excitedly announced that she had gone pee-pee and asked for a treat.  Since I was not very happy with her, I did not give her a treat and begrudgingly told her I was glad she went pee on the toilet.  At the same time, I wasn't happy with myself for obviously overlooking something.

After she went to bed, and I cooled down significantly, I reflected on her recent regression and how I played into it.  Within in a few moments I had a prompting in the form of two questions: Are you listening to what your daughter is trying to communicate? Or are you pushing your own will on her? I hung my head in shame--good shame--and decided to take a step back and let her progress on her own time.

She can now request a diaper anytime she wants and I am back to giving her treats whenever she pees on the toilet.  Really, I am so proud of her for asking to potty train on her own and not rewarding something that she is obviously pleased with herself is like denying her a kiss when she really needs it.

As a mother, I am often the "dummy" when it comes to listening to my kids.  Thankfully, there is room to change. I hope I can take this lesson and use it continuously as Emily and Andrew grow older.

Are you an awesome parent? Of course you are! Write a post about a parenting style, philosophy, or moment you are proud of and let me know in the comments. (Want more details? Click on the button above or click here.)

(Apparently, I now have to pay for a subscription to Linkytools, so until I decide to do this a link list will have to wait.)

Virtual Hot Cocoa

Cathy suggested we have a cup of virtual coffee together, much like Corinne's weekly series.   I think this is a wonderful idea and will only tweak it a little--by making mine a cup of hot chocolate.   Don't worry, you can keep your cup of coffee if you'd like.

If we met for hot chocolate, we would exchange holiday stories.  I would tell you mine were perfect: Relaxed and guilt-free.  Ben and I decided on a new tradition that will take a couple years to get going, but we are very excited to see it come to pass.

I would ask about your family then tell you about mine: How Andrew took his first steps on Christmas Eve among wild applause and shouts of, "Hooray!";  that I finally conceded to potty training Emily because she is doing it all on her own. You would laugh as I describe how she marches right to her little potty when she needs to relieve herself, stands up and yells, "I go pee pee, Mommy!" when she's finished and helps me empty the bowl it into the toilet.  Afterward, she instantly demands a treat.  Which I often agree to because she is just so big and I am just so proud.  You would ask about Ben and I would share how marvelous it was to have him work only one job over Christmas break.  We had so much fun together.

You would ask how I'm feeling.  A little rough emotionally, I'd explain, especially since some of my friends are having their babies right now.   It makes me hurt knowing that I won't be holding mine in May, even as I take comfort in knowing she (I always knew it was a she) is being held by God in Heaven.  Physically...well I'd quickly change the subject because that's a sore (no pun intended) topic right now.

We would swap resolutions lists.  I would tell you that I don't expect perfection in my goals, just gradual changes as I continue to grow through my experiences.  You would nod your head at my wisdom and then we'd both collapse in fits of giggles because, let's be honest, "being wise" isn't my greatest attribute.

As our time ended, always too quickly, we'd stand and give each other giant hugs.  We'd promise to meet at the same place, same time next week with new insights to share and stories to laugh about.

Until then...

What would you share?