This Scene Again, Just Once More

Call me Mother of the Year.

I find that Dante's Inferno left off the tenth circle of hell: potty training a recalcitrant toddler.

There has been some small success this week. Peanut, under extreme protest, has finally found his way to the potty. There has been much cheering from all concerned parents, grandparents, aunt, and cohort mommies. Granted, said cohort mommies were congratulating me rather than Peanut, but that's okay. They've either been there, there now, or about to be there, and fully understand that this is as much my battle as his.

With all this ado (about something), one would think that Peanut would find this encouraging. In fact, the opposite is happening. My contrary toddler scorns all adulation, turns up his nose at rewards, and downright ignores blatant bribes in an effort to stay as far away from potty training as possible. I'm not amused. Neither is he.

Potty training now looks and sounds like a war zone. Peanut screams and hits as we go into the bathroom. Trains, sippy cup, books all have no calming effect. The screaming can last upwards of thirty minutes. This could be longer, but honestly, I stopped timing. I don't want to know. Even after I get my way and am congratulating Wonder Toddler, he will look me in the eye and inform me that he's "never sitting on potty ever again". I can't make this up.

However, I am taking heart that my fight is nearly over. He is finally nearing the end of the diaper run, and there is the potential that he won't have to change his own diaper before he graduates college. Then again, knowing Peanut, he will.

Call me Mother of the Year.