I know I said I wasn’t going to pressure my kid in to getting potty trained – but I feel myself caving in to the pressure. He can’t start pre-school until he’s potty trained. I know this. He knows this. You know this. I’m sure the whole f-ing world knows this, but it just doesn’t matter to him.

We had one success last week and we’ve since taken a huge step backwards. The husband and I are checking our calendars tonight to try to find three consecutive days that we can try the “Three Days to Potty Training” challenge. Caving. Badly.

Tonight we had his underwear on him and about every 30-frickin-seconds we asked him if he needed to go pee-pee or poo-poo. No. No. NO! Every time we asked, the answer was no.

He pooped. We found out when we noticed a poopie pebble on the carpet. Ick.

He peed. We found out when he stood in the dining room ON THE NEW HARDWOOD FLOOR and looked at us while making his puddle.

With V, I’m normally a very calm and collected person. With other people, no. But with my son, yes. But I nearly lost it tonight. I had to give myself a time out and remind myself that the kid is 2.5 and doesn’t yet understand. It’s my job to teach him. He’s bright. He’ll learn. And the better teacher I am, the faster he will learn.


I’ve found the first thing about raising a toddler that I hate. I can handle throw up, tantrums, everything else that’s been thrown my way. But potty training will be the death of me. I just know it.