In honor of me jumping into potty training this weekend. I’d thought I’d share a glimpse of my first time down this road. Enjoy.
STOP MOVING! I was hot and getting hotter with every squirm.
If you recall, I briefly stated that we returned to pull-ups after trying cloth training pants…the story I’m about to share was the major factor in that decision.
The boy had been very successful, at the time, keeping his pants clean. Dry was a whole other ball park. But if I had to choose between the two I’d much prefer clean.
On this particular day, after sitting on the potty the boy was enjoying his usual 30 minute room time.
As his room time was coming to an end, I made my way back to his room. I quietly open his door, in hopes to not disturb his play.
He was deep in thought, as he squatted in front of his Mega Bloks trying to determine which piece he would place on top of his new created tower.
As I pushed open his door further to witness his fun, I was stopped dead in my tracks. The aroma overcame me.
No longer did I look at the scene before me with joy in my eyes. My mood quickly change like the fumes had put me under some spell.
In a stern voice, I startled Lil’man asking to know if he dirtied his pants. (Like I didn’t already know.)
He respond nonchalantly with a yes. Though unintentional that comment irked me.
Why didn’t he care! Frustration set in.
I began scooting him towards the bathroom when it dawned on me…he was in training pants.
No tear away sides. This was going to be interesting.
I quickly removed his jeans and pulled back his training pants so I could peak at what I would be dealing with.
I slowly began to inch his pants down in hopes as not to make a mess. However, the boy wasn’t helping.
With every pull, he shifted. Don’t move. With every inch, he wiggled. Stop. I don’t want a mess. With every drag, he turned. STOP. Moving. With every tug, he twisted. STOP MOVING! I was hot and getting hotter with every squirm.
It was too late. My fear came true. His poop had hit the floor.
And still he wouldn’t stop moving. Evidently, this he had to see.
STOP MOVING! I cried out in desperation.
STOP! STOP! and then a sigh. Long and low.
There it was…his pretty poop covered foot on my bathroom rug.
And that was how my relationship with training pants came to an erupt end.
I applaud all of you, who have more patience than I do.