Hopping on the Potty Train

This is going to be awkward.

There’s really no way around it, because people don’t typically talk or write about bathroom activities. And, frankly, we probably shouldn’t. What happens behind closed doors, in this case, should stay behind closed doors. Like Vegas. Just without the fun and hangovers.

But as a Dad of two daughters, one who is now (somewhat) successfully trained, potty training has been a pretty eye-opening experience. And that, after all, is what this blog is meant to chronicle.

So let’s start at the beginning — changing diapers. I dreaded this before having children because I’d never changed a diaper before. But this is one of the biggest misconceptions about kids. Changing diapers, in reality, is no big deal. Take off the dirty one, clean things up, put on a new one. Not a big deal. Takes like three seconds.

Most importantly, the parent is in control during a diaper change.

Now, to potty training, which is a disaster of epic proportions and the absolute worst thing about having a child. It wasn’t even that bad with Annabelle (and, if we’re being honest, Bridget did 85% of the work here), but it was still awful. My mom tells me I was awful about it, too. I don’t think I was actually trained until I was 4, which, apparently, is late. Whatever. It all worked out.

Back to Annabelle. The constant fear that she’d pee on everything. The horrible days when she had to poop, but wouldn’t admit it and just wanted to “stay home all day” for unrelated reasons. The time we stopped at a shady rest stop on the Mass Pike because she had to “go real bad,” but it was just a false alarm. The coaxing, pleading, and urging to “just push” behind closed doors. (Told you this was going to be awkward.) Potty training is frustrating, tiring, and anxiety-inducing.

And, again, she did really well. We went pants-less for a week or so, had a few accidents, had to bring in the Miralax, but she learned pretty fast.

Now, she’s, mostly, a pro. She gets up on her potty herself using one of her trusty stools, does her business, and washes her hands. (Flush and wash and be on your way! Thanks, Daniel Tiger.) She's  even great in public (including the men’s room, when necessary), which I learned after four visits to a recent Starbucks bathroom in an hour one day a few weeks ago.

I’d certainly never wish for my darling daughters to grow up faster than they are. But I would trade all the fantasy football championships in the world for Aurora to be potty trained right now.

Then again, I’d probably never again get the chance to go to a Starbucks bathroom four times in an hour. And that would be a tragedy.