Tag Archives: potty training

Another Reason That Parenting Is Not For The Weak

A little more than three years into this parenting gig, I think I can safely say that we had one of the grossest days in the history of my parenting career. It was worse than the time Riley ate a mouthful of mud. It was worst than the time Riley took off with a handful of um…dirty diaper. We ventured into a Port-O-Potty. At a park. To go #2. EWWWWWW!

I think it’s safe to say that my bare skin has not touched a public toilet seat since adolescence. Actually, maybe even earlier than that. In fact, I have vivid memories of my mom telling me from the next stall over, “Make sure you put paper down!”

As I grew, I decided to use the potty time to strengthen my quad muscles and just adapted to the “hover” technique.

So when Riley became potty trained, and we ventured into the world of public bathrooms, I made sure to always ALWAYS line the toilet seat with paper. No part of his delicate skin has touched a toilet seat, either, I’m proud to say.

So this morning, it was a crisp 60 degrees outside and we decided the park was calling us. We got there, played for a bit and then the little man began his trademark potty dance and started saying, “I have to go! I have to go!” I scooped him up (as much as my 23-week pregnant frame could do) and we hurried to the nasty Port-O-Potty ┬ánear the trees. On the way there, I asked him if he had to go pee pee or poo poo. “Poo poo,” he replied and my heart sank.

“Derek, we need you!” I called to him and he followed us over there. Along with our dog. Because of course she was with us at the park, too.

If there is one positive to this situation, it was that the Port-O-Potty was a handicapped one, so there was plenty of room to spare. I opened the door and was hit with the trademark outhouse smell. I almost ralphed right there.

“What is this?” Riley asked.

“It’s a place to go potty at the park,” I quickly replied.

I lifted the nasty lid of the toilet seat and again, almost hurled. DISGUSTING.

I knew there was no way toilet paper placed on the seat was going to work this time. Derek held the door open while I lifted Riley and let him levitate above the toilet seat. I told him just to go. Shockingly, he did not go. Could you go number two while floating in the air? I didn’t think so.

My back was breaking, so I told Derek he had to take a turn. I took the dog and the nasty door and he cradled Riley and held him above the grossness of the outhouse. We waited. And waited.

And finally one teeny tiny bit came out.

“Are you all done?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes,” he said. Hallelujiah!!

We hurried out of that handicapped Port-O-Potty as quickly as we all could. And Derek got a piece of toilet paper stuck to his foot. The perfect ending to the perfect park outing.

It’s time like these that make me really miss diapers.

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Super Mom Moment

I’ve had a couple of these moments in my 2.7 years of parenthood. Usually they involve juggling an armful of baby, bags and a dog leash. But today it involved more than that.

Riley and I went to a local elementary school craft fair with my mom and sister this morning. Shortly after we got there, Riley informed me that he had to go potty. Even though he was wearing a diaper, potty training is going well so I didn’t want to confuse him and just tell him to go. So off we rushed to the bathroom.

Obviously, I decided to go into the handicapped bathroom stall so there would be enough room for both of us. We got in and I realized the stupid lock on the stupid door didn’t work. So I held the door closed with one hand.

Being the borderline germophobe I am, I lined the toilet with paper and plopped him on it, but of course he’s teeny tiny, so I had to use one hand to hold him on the toilet and the other to hold the door closed.

AND THEN, the stupid ass flushing sensor kept going off and flushing the toilet while he was sitting on it. Yes, that’s only mildly terrifying for a toddler.

By the third time the effing toilet sprayed him with toilet water, I knew I had to do something.

So I stood on one foot and held my other foot over the toilet sensor.

Let’s picture this, shall we?

One arm holding the stall door closed. Another arm holding a toddler perched on the toilet seat. Standing on one foot while the other is stretched across to the back of the toilet.

What a shock, the boy didn’t even pee. He was obviously too confused as to what kind of demented game of Twister I was playing in the handicapped stall.

Ah, motherhood.

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Some days are harder than others

Wanna know why?

Because you come home from work on a Friday that’s been one of THOSE weeks with nights up late and mornings up early, and crabby co-workers, and not enough hours in the day, and possible seasonal affective disorder (stupid daylight savings time).

And you walk in the door and kiss your husband and adorable son who are both snuggled under a blanket on the couch.

“Mommy, change my diaper,” your little boy says.

“Did you go poo-poo?” you ask.

“No, pee pee!” he happily replies.

“Um…he’s not wearing a diaper. He’s in underwear,” your husband replies.

You remove your precious first born son from the couch to find a huge puddle of pee seeping in to two couch cushions. Couch cushions that you can’t exactly just throw in the washer and dryer with no worries that they’ll come out of the dryer the size of the couch in Barbie’s Dream House. Does such a couch exist? That is machine washable? If so, I’ll take two, please.

So down to the basement we go, to handwash couch cushions. Me, still in my business casual attire, laptop bag still on the floor at the front door.

Here’s what our couch currently looks like, with an inquisitive pee-er scoping out the computer as it snaps a shot:

So, 2/3 of my couch is unusable. And will be until the cushions air dry in the basement. Yeah, probably 3 days.

But that’s not even the worst part. My mom is staying the night tonight because she needs to be downtown late and doesn’t want to drive an hour home in the middle of the night. And she normally crashes on the couch. Well that’s not an option anymore.

So rearrange the living room furniture, we did. And there’s an air mattress smack dab in the middle of the living room. Which the inquisitive pee-er loves because, hello! Instant trampoline.

Oh bedtime, you can’t come soon enough! For both of us.

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