I thought I was pretty good at potty training. Like enough to be patting myself on the back and thinking I had it in the bag. Again, one of those things I wish I never said.
My first was potty trained at just about two, maybe a little later. It was right before his sister was born. He had it all figured out, and then he even potty trained himself at night, where he'd get up and go at night when he needed to. Of course, that was right after his sister was born, and he never would get up at the same time as she did in the middle of the night, but I digress.
The second said, just as she was 2-1/2, "I want to wear one more diaper, and that's the wast." So she did. And she was potty trained. Just like that. She wore pullups for some ordinary amount of time and then slept through the night with no accidents. Easy peasy.
I was so confident with the third. I mean, honestly, I got through the first two with nearly no trouble. A little bribery, a lot of practice and patience - I was sure I was now qualified to write a book on how to perfectly potty train your child.
HA. HA. HA.
Seriously, he's nearly 4-1/2 and I'm starting to think I'll be sending him to college in a Pull-up.
I started when he was about two. We purchased underwear. We made a big deal out of it. We sat on the potty in front of the TV. We gave candy liberally. He even got to give a piece to his siblings when he went and THEY gave him praise. We let him go in his underwear and feel the wet. We let him sit in the underwear until he got uncomfortable. He didn't - it just would dry and he'd be on his merry way. We quit.
I started again after he was 2-1/2. We did all the same. We pottied every thirty minutes. We didn't leave the house. We gave treats. Stickers. He ran around naked. He peed on my carpet. We quit.
We tried again after his third birthday. I was so tired. We gave candy. We went every thirty minutes. We stayed home. We brought changes of clothes everywhere. We threatened returning to "baby" diapers. We let him sit in his wet underwear. We made him change his pants when they were wet. We cried. We wailed. He peed in his underwear. He didn't care. We kept at it.
We're long past his fourth birthday, and we have a very tentative hold on this potty training thing. He finally got to where he cared about being wet and stinking like pee, and being a little embarrassed when he did it at school. My stock response of "oh, honey, it's okay, let's just change your pants" did me no good, as he'd just repeat, exasperated "but mommy said it was OKAAAAY!" Oh. That's not quite what I meant.
I do take the blame for inconsistency, but oh, my, goodness, I'm also aware of the fact that I'm proud mother of the Laziest Boy in America. He'd much prefer to watch the end of his show with wet pants than to pause it, get up, go to the bathroom, not 20 yards away and restart his show. MY GOSH! He can pause his show! It's not like the olden days of 2004 when we didn't have that capability!
And don't get me started on night time. Because I'm not going there for a Really Long Time. Ever, really. I'll send him to college with a suitcase full of Depends if I have to.