I don’t want to jinx anything, but I’m pretty sure I can retire my title of World’s Worst Potty-Trainer. Jackson, who is 3 years and 3 months and 10 days old, wore big boy underwear today. He’s consistently peeing in the potty and more often than not, he’s pooping in the potty too. And we haven’t threatened to take away a birthday or anything. He’s doing this on his own. No gimmicks. No Cheerios in the toilet. No M&M’s or Skittles (though, in the interest of full disclosure, I must admit we did that for about a week earlier in June). No cutesy potty books that make flushing sounds. Not even the happy-happy-joy-joy pee-pee victory dance. In other words, this is requiring very little effort on my part.
I think I’ve finally discovered the trick to potty-training. Have two older brothers who regularly enjoy the pleasure of standing up to pee demonstrate this boy-privilege. That’s what sealed the deal for Jackson. He can stand up and watch himself make bubbles. “Momma, see the bubbles? Momma, can you hear it?” Aaaah, the simple pleasures in a 3 year old’s life.
We have a crudely-drawn chart hanging on the fridge marking Jackson’s Accident-Free Days. I didn’t even splurge for stickers. (This is what happens by the time you get to child number 5.) I’m simply drawing large happy faces and writing “Hooray” (which he can’t even read yet) onto the chart each night. After a week of happy faces, he can go to the store and pick out the Spiderman underwear he’s been asking for. Nevermind that we already own about 16 pairs of Spiderman briefs and 3 pairs of miniature Spiderman boxers, I already promised him his very own Spiderman underwear brand-new from the store. Of course, I made this promise when I thought he was asking for Fireman underwear. His words don’t always come out that clearly. I was wondering if they even made Fireman underwear when I made this promise, so I was quite relieved to find out he was really asking for Spiderman underwear–which, obviously, they do make, as our 19 pairs attest to.
Anyway, we’re well on our way to that full week of no-accidents. We’ve even survived one whole day in big-boy underwear. And 3 years, 3 months, and 10 days is within the scope of a normal potty-training age. So I gladly pass on the title of World’s Worst Potty-Trainer to some other mother.