Well, there was no magic. No magic at all.
After three days in the potty training trenches, E.V. made not a single voluntary trip to the bathroom. Not even ONE, folks! Cry with me for a moment, will you? I was a total failure. I’d say she was a total failure, but you can’t really fail if you don’t try, right? ;)
I imagine that I will send E.V. to her Senior prom with a can of mace and an extra diaper “just in case.” During college football games, she will never lose her spot in the student section of Sanford Stadium because she’ll never need to make a run for the restroom. On her wedding day, her “something blue” will be the wetness indicator strip on her diaper. As she climbs the corporate ladder, her diaper will show through her suit, or if she becomes a famous artist, we’ll never need to worry about her doing a fully nude performance art exhibition. As she starts her own family, I suppose she’ll be unsuccessful at potty training her own children, and I will have created a generational downward spiral. The Shove name will be known as “The Diapered Ones,” and we will be famous. A disgusting carnival perfect for an addictive reality TV series on BRAVO, but nonetheless famous. By the time she’s old and gray, she won’t be embarrassed when it’s time to transition into adult diapers, and, in fact, as her friends in the senior center join her in incontinence, she’ll explain with excitement all the joys of not being tethered to a conventional bathroom in life.
After 50+ pairs of soiled underwear, countless loads of laundry, a bajillion pee spots around the house (yay for renting for once!), stale, non-Whole30, unused bribery foods and a lot of exhaustion (and frustration for my less patient husband, haha!), the question has now become, “What’s next?” So here it is: As we crossed the official 72-hour mark, Ryan declared, “Let’s just quit! Back to diapers!” and I immediately shot back, “Absolutely not!” Talie Shove does NOT fail; we may be off-schedule, but we’re not quitting. Now that we gave the three-day, cold turkey method a try, we’re going to let up a little bit (mostly for the grown-ups’ sanity). As I contemplated what that looked like this evening, I resolved that we couldn’t go back to diapers — per se. Post-bath, while I pajamaed up Cricket in the next room over, Emma Vance yelled out to me, “Mommy! Poopy!” and started crying. She had pooped (not in the potty) and was so sad about it. It was at that point that we decided on a transitional method. We’ve bought some Pull-Ups and put one on E.V. tonight. And, of course, as irony would have it, minutes after we introduced her to her new “big girl Pull-Ups,” she told me that she was pooping again and we were able to (kinda’) get to the potty. #onemillioncookies
And now I promise NOT to blog about the woes of potty training ever again. Okay, well at least for a little bit. ;)