The Pee Fairy

What is it about life? And two year olds? You never really know anything except that if you're taking any kind of a gamble on what they'll do, you'll probably loose.

Let's look at my adorable little potty trained wonder Meara for a moment. It has now been 17 days (and nights) since I potty trained her. Just in case, I bought pull-ups for her to use at night. One never can be sure what's going to happen with the whole nighttime/pee thing. I was pleased to see that she immediately began waking up dry. This wonderful occurance happened for about seven nights in a row, causing me to think dangerous thoughts.

"Hmmm," I think to myself, "these pull-ups are expensive. Surely if she's been dry for a week it's pretty safe to try putting her to bed without one."

You know how at the drive-through car washes they have those lit up instructions? Like, "STOP" and "Pull Forward"? If I had light up parenting signs, one flashing the words "DANGER! You are about to unnecessarily increase your dirty laundry!" would have immediately began flashing. But alas, no such thing exists and I was left with my own puny reasoning skills to guide me. Here's where my brilliant thinking abilities took me:

"Even if she isn't going to stay dry every night, what are the chances she'll pee the first night out of pull-ups? Yes, I think I will put her in her cutest, silky pink, freshly laundered nightgown. She'll be fine."

At this point, the sign I didn't have would have gone into a flashing frenzy, and a blaring alarm would have sounded. Can someone find me one of these signs? I mean really, I had JUST changed her crib sheet!

Sure enough, the Pee Fairy visited Meara in the night. 6:00 am, actually. Just late enough that she won't go back to sleep, and just early enough that I'm not thrilled about having to get up. I really think the Pee Fairy could have been just a little more sympathetic. Do you suppose she knows I don't like her?

So back into pull-ups we went. Until last night. She hasn't peed in a pull-up yet! It made sense to stop using them! The only time she didn't stay dry was when I thought she would! But with no flashing sign to guide me, I once more fell victim to common sense and gave that stupid Fairy a chance to visit. Wet bed just before seven. I really hate the Pee Fairy.

So, back into pull-ups tonight. The pull-up thing isn't even that big of a deal anyway. It's the gamble. It's Murphy and his dumb old law. This time, I think I'll just use the whole blasted package of pull-ups before trying again. After all, why give the Pee Fairy an invitation before it's absolutely necessary, right?

Potty!!

Potty training can leave a mother with such mixed reactions. On one hand, there are no more two year old - heaven forbid three year old - diapers to change, or money blown buying them. There's the consolation that comes with knowing your child will be able to attend kindergarten (I know several children who have given their mothers a scare in this department). Also a factor: the unexplainable freedom from an unseen chain that enslaves a mother to the bowel movements of her child. Does anyone get this, or is it just me?

On the other hand, you have anxiety. Granted, Meara is doing phenomenally well for being one week into big girl panties, but still. As you and your child venture away from the controlled environment of your home, you begin running risks. Let's take church for instance. Yesterday I had to fill in for the ward organist, which means I get there early and sit on the stand during sacrament meeting. This birds eye view of what goes on in our pew around my poor husband (who's never learned to whisper) is always an interesting perspective, but there are times it's downright maddening being unable intervene.

So I watch my family arrive. Rusty has done his best on Meara's hair, and I admit to myself there is definite improvement in this department. They file in, sit down, and are decently quiet during the opening of the meeting. Then the young men bless, and begin passing the sacrament. As usual, things are pretty quiet, until the silence is shattered by Meara's not-so-quiet voice saying "Potty". Rusty pretends not to hear her. Again but louder,"Potty!" Somewhere around the third "Potty!" I make eye contact with him and give a frantic head-jerk towards the door.

Few men can ignore as effectively as my husband, and this is the last eye contact I'm able to secure. The cries of "Potty, potty, potty!" escalate in a desperate whine, and still he just sits there. I pry my eyes off my child and glance around the room to see several people snickering as they glance Meara's direction, and others looking at me, obviously thinking the whole thing is very entertaining. Even I am having a hard time keeping a straight face, and have to elbow Niall (who's sitting with me) when he lets out a loud snort.

She yelled it at least ten times - although Annie was having such a rough time with her own children she swears she only heard two or three - and this is not one of those inarticulate toddler words no one can understand. I'm sure I wasn't the only person getting nervous about the situation. I was just about to leave the stand, when suddenly she stopped. Luckily for Rusty, whose lap was in jeopardy, she held it until the passing of the sacrament was over. Pretty gutsy if you ask me. Then he finally took her out and I was able to relax.

Situations like that make me think "What was so wrong with diapers? She was happy, I was happy enough. Why are we putting ourselves through this?" Then I remember that I go to work in September, and potty training would have been out until next summer. Hmmm, a three year old's diapers is a pretty convincing argument. So over all, I suppose I'm glad I did it now. In another month, I'm sure she'll be a pro and I'll never look back. At the moment however, I would like to give shout of sympathy to any mothers dealing with potty training (or non-potty training) at any stage. I appreciate what you're going through, and I salute you. Just remember - it isn't easy, but at some point anyway, it's worth it.

Go Team Underwear!

There is something completely desperate about having a half-pottytrained two year old. You explain, they stare back at you blankly - or in Meara's case hear nothing you say because all focus is on the M&Ms and "cheeps" (chips) in your pocket. Still, I am happy to report that overall things went great today. So great that Annie had the gall to call and inform me that my next task will be pottytraining Rex. Fabulous. Can't wait. Love pottytraining. Anyone else have an anti-underwear three year old they'd like to send my way? If so, forget it unless you're my little sister with a "broken back" and an absentee husband.

Back to today's pottytraining. I really was concerned there for awhile. The adorable child drank over ten ounces of fluids in a half hour, and one hour and twenty minutes into the thing she still hadn't peed. I'm following the book to the T, and her ten minute sits on the pottychair are producing nothing. The dam was going any minute. It was like watching a time-bomb about to explode.

After ten-minute-sit number three, she stands up, pulls up the Tinkerbell panties, and pees. But only a little. Just enough to put off the explosion, but not enough to eliminate the threat - pressure's still on. So what do I do? Something I wish I had done on child numbers 1,2, and 3. I got out a shallow bowl, filled it with nice warm water, sat her on the pottychair and told her to play. Hands in the water, pee in the pot. We did this all day (once she even accidentally pooped!) until she finally went on her own while I was filling the bowl. We only had one all-out accident, and she's already learned that if she says "potty" bedtime can be postponed indefinitely.

So, a battle is won, the war is on, but things are looking good for Team Underwear. Yea Meara!