It’s odd. There are some things about parenting that aren’t nearly as difficult as I anticipated. Waking up early, changing diapers, even the occasional cleaning of vomit is not so bad.
And then there’s potty training.
The equivalent of water boarding for most moms, potty training is one week of intense torture followed by months of sporadic episodes. After the initial month, my daughter was potty proficient. With my son, I was not so lucky. Five months later, we still burn two Pull-ups a day.
At one point, we were really close to ending our diaper dependence. (Yes, a Pull-up is a glorified diaper repositioned by marketers who have convinced us not to go cold turkey.) But then came the day that I forgot to put a Pull-up on him for his nap. He woke up from his nap with blood-curdling screams.
Him: “CALL MYRA! CALL MYRA!” (Myra cleans our house)
Me: “What’s wrong?”
Him: “My bed’s wet! Myra needs to change my sheets!”
Me: “Mommy knows how to change sheets.” (I’ll address the fact that my children don’t think I’m capable of basic home maintenance in a future post.)
Him: “No you don’t…call Myra.”
I digress. The point of this was that when I asked him what happened, he told me that he thought he had a Pull-up on. Translation: He thought about it and decided to pee on himself. The bottom line is that I don’t think he needs them anymore, he’s just a bit lazy. A few mornings ago, he crawled into my bed. I asked him if he needed to potty.
Him: “No, I just did it in my Pull-up”
Me: “Why’d you do that? You should go on the potty.”
Him: “Dats okay. I wike to go in my Pull-up, it’s warm.”
Me: “Nice.”
I can only imagine the thrill of potty training the twins.
