I've been so excited about Daniel's potty training success. He's done so well and I really haven't been shy about telling our family and friends when they ask. Let me tell ya, though, there's nothing like having company to bring out the "I'm-gonna-make-mom-look-like-a-fool" in a kid. We had family visiting from Ohio and South Carolina this weekend so Daniel decided that he was not going use the bathrooms at my parents house. At all. Not the one on the first floor. Not the one upstairs. Not the one in my parents room. And definitely not the little potty we bought to keep at Grandma and Papa's house.
It went a little like this:
Me: Daniel? Do you have to go potty?
Daniel: No Mommy. (run the other way)
Me: Daniel, you tell Mommy if you have to go potty.
Daniel: No Mommy.
Ten Minutes Later.
Me: Daniel, it's time to go potty. Let's go.
Daniel: No Mommy. (runs away)
Me: Daniel, I said it's time to go potty. You need to try.
As I caught him up mid-run, he'd begin screaming and kicking. "Nooooooooooo!" Once inside the bathroom, he stomped around yelling 'no' while I tugged on his pants and tried to keep him from hitting his head on the tub or the toilet or the cabinet. No small feat, I tell you. Then we'd spend fifteen deafening minutes in a battle of the wills. How long could I hold him on while he struggled to get off? Each time I eventually gave up. Redressed him and sent him running back out to play with cousins or aunts.
Five Minutes Later.
Daniel: Uh Oh Mommy. Pee-pee. (As he points to the puddle around his feet.)
Me: Daaanniiieeeelllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll! (in total exasperation)
During the three days of the weekend, he went just fine on his travel potty at the soccer fields and Chick-Fil-A. (Maybe I should've taken him out to the driveway to go at Mom and Dad's.) By Sunday evening I was tired of the whole thing. I was just sure we'd lost a month's worth of work and that I was going to have to start all over again with training on Monday morning. No reason for anyone to believe me that he was doing so well. I'd completely given up and resorted to pull ups in an effort to make it through the day.
We said goodbye to our Ohio family, ate some ice cream and loaded the car. Daniel and I walked in the door at home, and had the following conversation-
Daniel: Mommy! pee-pee!
Me: Do you have to go potty? (me incredulous!)
Daniel: I do!
And he did.
So, what on earth is the deal with the bathrooms at my parent's house? And why are they more traumatic than the automatic flushing ones at Target and Ukrops? No doubt he didn't want to miss out on anything, but my word, was that really necessary?!