OK, this time it's for real.

I've been trying. Really. For months. Hoping, praying, begging. Cajoling, rewarding, enticing, encouraging.

Yelling.

Of course, it wasn't working. She didn't want to be potty trained. And she screamed whenever we had to wipe her poopy areas, screamed like we were killing her. Boy, that feels great, let me tell you. And diapers. Cloth, paper, pee, poop--I know there's more coming, but frankly, I'd love a little break before that happens.

So.

Christmas is over, the family has left. She's gotten the concept that she's going to be a big sister (though sometimes she seems to think the baby will come out and be older than her. We are working on this.) She's excited.

She finally wants to be A Big Girl.

Yesterday, I did what I always do. "Rowan, do you want to try sitting on the potty?"

"NOOOOOOO!!!!!" (If she could breathe fire, this would be one instance where you'd have seen it.)

And that was it. The straw that broke the camel's back.

"I don't care. It's time. Get in here. NOW!"

Of course, she ignored me.

So I pulled out the big guns.

"I'm counting to 5. If you aren't in here by 5, I am turning off Sesame Street."

She was in there. Crying, yes, but there.

So, we did the training pants all day, with rubber pants over (for no apparent reason, because when she has an accident, she's pretty much soaked anyway. But whatever. I keep using them.) She did pretty well. 2 accidents, a small turd (first on the potty.) Many gummi bears.

Today, again, 3 accidents, but a massive poop on the potty to offset that (resulting in a big strawberry marshmallow. I'm all about the corn syrup-laden rewards). She's going, but only when I take her, never on her own before the fact. (Note, the accidents were within about 10 minutes of an attempt each time, so don't say I'm not taking her often enough. I'm really really trying here.) We ran some errands and I put her in a diaper, which she filled with pee, but at least let me know when it was happening (and all the other shoppers around us, too, natch.) She was also very polite to the lady who let us in the bathroom to clean up.

Tonight, I found some more ammo in the closet.

A green fairy costume, with wings, I'd found on sale at the craft store years ago for a few bucks--the perfect carrot. 3 days with no accidents AND remembering to tell Mommy before she pees and not just relying on me to take her.

Wish us luck.

Victory Farts

This is a post about potty training. If you're the squeamish sort, bye bye.

After a few tinkles months ago, the magic stopped. She was no longer interested, and would answer queries with a quick and final "No!" and walk away, to color in her Kai-Lan coloring book or make another little pink play-doh ball with matching play-doh crumbs.

During her visit with her maternal grandparents in DC, I heard the expected, "She's so smart! She knows her ABC's, can count to 20 in English and 10 in French* and she's only 2? She should be potty trained by now. So'n'so's kid was trained by 18 months! Why isn't she trained yet?"

Yeah, like I haven't tried. Sigh.

So they tried, the questions, the incentives, the promises. And her response?

"No!"

Then this week, she refused to let me change her diaper. I was kicked, screamed at, cried on, hit, and just generally abused. Not fun. Even so, she'd begin crying suddenly, with an "I peed my big girl bed!" or "I peed my booster chair!" (while wearing a diaper, still.) Since her dad finally had a weekend where he didn't have to really do much (this is exceedingly rare--he never takes any time off, but he needed it), it became his job to deal with diapers and the like. Rowan needed Mom to take some distance.

She didn't fight him, but still had no interest in the potty. However, she did have an interest in the Hello, Kitty! panties.

So he tried it. She wet through a couple of times, but he said it seemed to make sense to her. She insisted on the panties over her diaper at bed time.

Today? No requests, and many refusals. (All the panties were dirty.) But tonight before bed, she acquiesced. She sat on the potty, happy, with Mom in the room, for a good 5 minutes.

And?

She FARTED. At least 5 times.

I call that a win.












*That would be Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Un, deux, trois, quatre, six. Close enough.

I'm taking it as a sign.

It's a busy weekend here in Academicsburg. Dr. B's department has 2 banquets (Friday and Sunday), and his Solar Decathlon project another (Saturday), plus a ribbon cutting. Rowan went to one banquet and stayed with a friend for another, and will again join that friend tonight as we finish what is every-so-affectionately known as "Hell Weekend".

Saturday was a busy day. She was tired from the night before, but the Solar house was here and the ribbon-cutting ceremony was at noon. As I've done before, I asked her if she could play alone in her room for ten minutes while I showered, and then I'd give her a bath. She looked up at me with big, solemn eyes and repeated, "Good girl. Promise!"

She tried. I give her that.

I stepped into the room, clean and fresh-smelling, my hair dripping water down my back, and found her. Naked, sitting in the middle of the guest bed. Hands, chest, and bum--brown.

"Poopy!" she said, upset. Distressed. "Poopy! Uh-oh. No no no!!!" Nasty, funny-colored, and foul-smelling. I don't know what she ate at our friend's house, but she sure didn't like the feeling of its return.

I'm hoping this means she's getting closer to potty training days. She's a helpful little tyke, but diaper changing is really something I'd rather she didn't help with. Ew.