Oh, so remember when I was all, "I totally potty trained the baby!" and gave away a bunch of diapers and was basically an insufferable smug asshole for like, 48 hours about it?
CORRECTED TIMELINE, ONE MONTH LATER: Hey guess what! I totally potty trained the baby!
(Silent, internal screaming)
It turns out that what I thought was our "breakthrough moment" was kind of a false alarm. We were close, but not really there yet. The Braxton-Hicks of potty training, as it were. Ike decided that having accidents at school were, on second thought, not such a big deal at all. Neither were accidents at home. Our clever little prompt/refrain of "clean and dry" quickly lost all sense and meaning, as he would happily chirp this at me WHILE ACTIVELY PEEING HIS PANTS.
Three weeks of this. Three solid weeks of zero success, endless loads of laundry, much crippling doubt in our decision to ever undertake this stupid training business in the first place, because that child was having none. Of. It.
(I'm sorry, Future Ike, for documenting this in such detail but YOU NEED TO KNOW. YOUR STUBBORN STREAK HAS LED YOU TO MUCH RIDICULOUSNESS IN THE PAST. PERHAPS YOU ARE BEING RIDICULOUS ABOUT SOMETHING RIGHT NOW. HMMMM. THINK ABOUT IT.)
We stuck with it, obviously. Life blurred into an endless series of 20-minute increments in between taking him to the toilet, where he would sit and stare us, like "Annnnd?" On his teachers' advice, we refused to change his clothes immediately after an accident. ("Clean and dry!" he'd parrot back, while waddling around the house soaking wet.) I bought him another toy — a giant awesome plush Wreck-it Ralph — but stuck it on top of our highest kitchen cabinet and drew up a star chart. He needed five stars to earn Ralph, and he'd lose a star for every accident.
A modest goal, I thought. And yet poor Ralph languished on top of that cabinet for many days.
And then last Saturday, out of the damn blue, while I was upstairs waging the similarly futile battle of Keeping My Damn House Somewhat Clean, Ike walked himself into the downstairs bathroom and just...used the bathroom. All unprompted, unsupervised, like it was no big deal at all. On the one hand, I nearly passed out from shock. On the other hand, I KNEW IT I KNEW IT HE TOTALLY KNEW WHAT TO DO THIS WHOLE TIME OH MY GOD WHYYYYYYY ARE YOU SO STUBBBBBBBORN?
He earned Ralph by bedtime, and then there was no looking back. He conquered the public restroom hurdle the very next day. Accident free ever since. A mild stomach bug didn't even break his stride. I guess he just needed to prove a point to us about something, for awhile there.
(But no, I'm not giving away any more diapers just yet. He's tricked me into hitting the publish button on potty training once before. I'm onto you, kid.)
(But apparently not onto him enough to just keep my damn mouth shut. Hmm.)
Ugh. There is way too much urine-related imagery in this post. Let's get clean and dry with some completely unrelated photos. Reader/friend and fellow blogger/zombie nerd Erin sent the boys a Star Trek quilt (!!) for their many play picnic adventures:
And of course Ezra immediately decided to cross the streams and repurpose it as a cape.
I am happy to report that nobody — human or otherwise — has peed on it. Yet. As far as I know.
(Resumes silent, internal screaming.)