There are now at least 20 stars on "Maggiez Potty Chart".
Not consecutive stars. But stars nonetheless.
Who would have guessed that Public Accountability plus Shiny-Star-Goodness would equal Nearly Urine-Free Underpants!
We started the whole potty-training thing following Fabulous Dr. Phil's-Potty-Training-In-A-Day advice.
It's been a year-and-a-half.
Imagine Dorothy stumbling naievely on the travelling Professor in the Wizard Of Oz. In retrospect we should have ignored the man behind the curtain.
We started the process with the Four-Year-Old's little neighborhood friend and school chum, "Sidekick". Of course she passed the program with flying colors. One memorable night where The Four-Year-Old had her 20th #2 accident while standing (literally) next to the toilet, Sidekick's Mom says How's it working for you Dr. Phil?
What's ironic about the whole thing is that the Four-Year-Old is extremely girlie. Only recently has she refrained from immediately changing into some sort of Disney Princess dress-up clothing after crossing the threshold of our front door. You'd think such a feminine young lady would also be fastidious but no-ooooo. We discovered at some point that she had actually been peeing in the dress-up clothes, too busy was she in her fantasy land to be bothered with such distractions as bathroom breaks. We were finally on to her when we realized she was changing dress up clothes multiple times per evening. Cinderella, then Sleeping Beauty, then Belle then. . .
I can honestly say that BioMom and I have tried literally EVERYTHING to get Four-Year-Old trained. Literally. Everything. Everything any book has said; any Old-Wive's Tale; any suggestion made by some well-meaninged grandmother, aunt, neighbor or other parent. Everything. You can imagine the hours of discussions BioMom and I have endured on the subject. In the spirit of The L Word, at one point, I'm sure our friends had staged an intervention in their concern that we had become certifiably BORING.
Cousin started potty training her 3-year-old boy recently. Naturally she rubs in their success with little voice-mail messages with the boy's soprano I pottied on the potty like a BIG boy! into the receiver. She actually said to me (with a little frustration in her tone) that the day-care lady told us that it might take a month!
She could not have just said a month.
Did you say 30 days? 4 weeks?
I WOULD KILL FOR EVEN JUST ONE MORE MONTH!!
The other day the Four-Year-Old told me emphatically:
I hate to go to the bathroom!
I mumbled out of earshot:
I'll tell you what I hate more...
The smell of urine in the morning.
Of course, Maggie has no idea that when she pees her pants that sets of an entire cascade of low-wage work performed mainly by yours truly. I expect that once off at college, the Four-Year-Old will be surprised to note that the ever-increasing pile of dirty laundry under her sink doesn't magically get washed, folded, and returned to her shelves.
Note that I recognize how old and dowdy the above remark sounds.