Yes, friends – George, Frances and I have made it to day 6 of George’s potty training boot camp and we are all still alive, breathing, and talking to each other. I make no additional promises on how we are otherwise; but I consider the fact that I am able to type coherent sentences a victory.
Details aside, George is making progress but he is as stubborn as a mule and I am certain that David Copperfield himself could not hold a candle to the mental gymnastics that I have performed this past week trying to will my son to perform one simple task. Or at least I think it is simple, but I must constantly remind myself that for over two years George has been wearing a diaper—and considering the difference in diaper versus no diaper, he is doing pretty well.
I am also trying desperately to ensure that Frances isn’t getting lost in the shuffle, which is no easy feat. Thankfully she is a natural-born cheerleader and has embraced the “reward system” wholeheartedly—when George performs, we get to do something FUN. Playground, Monkey Joe’s, children’s museum, movie time. Obviously she would rather be on the playground than stuck in our tiny half-bath with her dry-as-a-bone little brother, so he has lots of encouragement from the women in his life (now that I think about it, I am pretty sure that must drive him crazy).
So that all is not lost, I have learned some interesting tidbits these last six days:
First, boys have bladders of steel. Three hours after downing two full water bottles, George was still going strong. Amazing.
Second, I am surprised and slightly ashamed to admit how much stress I have felt during this process. I knew it would be hard (I do have a four-year-old after all); but unlike with Frances who was in full-time daycare at 2-years-old, I am the sole adult driving this potty ship and it is hard. Really hard. And I haven’t just felt the mental anguish I anticipated but I have been having physical reactions to the stress—I want nothing more than to curl up in my bed and watch the “Kardashian” marathon in E! or Style or whatever channel is currently showing it (and I don’t even watch that show). My motivation to be productive has dwindled to zero. But the saving grace has been that I don’t have the option to give up or hide from reality – I have two sets of eyes looking to me to guide them through each day. But for Frances and George, I would very likely be in my bed and feeling miserable.
Third, this process is all-consuming and I need to find a way around that if for no other reason than to make my blog posts more interesting. My promise to all of you is that my next post will not be about potty-training (or at least not entirely). Maybe that pledge alone will keep me from going completely bananas by the weekend.
And on that positive note, I will end this post with some unrelated pictures of Frances in her new ballet clothes from Nana. She acquired these during her week-long visit and are the 1,230th reason Frances loves Lynchburg:
And here’s the boy (also in Lynchburg), sitting in a diaper, happy as a clam:
I wonder if he’s upstairs now dreaming of the good ol’ days of diaper-hood.
Happy Thursday everyone!
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