Potty Training Update!

I'm starting to think this potty training thing is overrated.

Andy hasn't peed in his pants in a full week.  He has gained complete control over his bladder and even woke up this morning with a dry diaper after being asleep for TWELVE hours.  Of course now, he wakes up, runs into my room, and urgently states, "Bathroom" immediately upon waking, instead of fooling around in his bedroom for a little bit or just sneaking downstairs to cause a little early morning mayhem.  So, that's fine- I drag myself out of bed and take him to the bathroom.  The other morning, he did his business and then I went and just peed after him, before he had a chance to flush.  It was super early, and I too had a full bladder.  Andy started SOBBING, though. "No Mommy pee pee on Andy pee pee," he bawled, big fat tears rolling out of his eyes.  I haven't seen Andy cry his sad cry in some time, and it was disconcerting, especially since I was barely awake.  I guess he thought I was diluting his magic pee pee with my ordinary, not so magic pee pee.  "I'm so sorry," I kept saying to him.  "I won't ever pee on your pee again."  This promise meant nothing to young Andy, who instead seemed to hold a grudge against me for the remainder of the morning.

This baby knows what's up.

So, now we leave the house and Andy has become a bathroom tourist, hitting the public bathroom every new place we go.  Taking a two year old to use a public bathroom is not all that easy, especially when you have an infant to deal with as well.  It takes forever to get all us into the bathroom and then undress Andy from the waist down, get him on the potty, watch him go, help him dab off any excess urine, help him down, help him flush, and then get him redressed, all the while praying that someone hasn't quietly wheeled out my little Alex, who usually is just waiting in the stroller outside the stall due to logistics.  If anybody's looking to kidnap an incredibly sweet, adorable little baby, just follow us to the bathroom, because I've made it quite easy.  But just be aware, if you're looking to kidnap my baby for a hefty ransom, you're out of luck, because the only currency I seem to have available these days is Arby's coupons and some Zelda rupees, if you can figure out a way to cash out from my Nintendo.

Anyway, so there's that- using every public bathroom multiple times ten minutes at a time.  Of course, I'm very proud of Andy, yadda yadda yadda, but sometimes when we're out and he's in a pull-up, I just want to tell him, "For God's sake, just pee in your pants, it's fine."  I know I can't let him do that, of course- it would undermine all of my training- but I didn't realize just how CONVENIENT a diapered butt could be.  I took it all for granted!  I didn't think this through!

And then there's the matter of number two.  Who does number two work for?  Not Andy, that's for sure.  He's had two small successes in the last two weeks with his poo, but for the most part, he refuses to make his deposits properly.  For those of you are not parents and still reading this blog, I apologize for talking so much about bowel movements.  Just for the record, I'm also completely grossed out by all of this and never imagined a life for myself in which so much of my time and energy would revolve around another person's poops.  Anyway, Andy, who was quite regular and prolific before embarking on potty training, is now only going once every couple days and can't seem to manage to do it in the potty.  I know this is pretty normal for a two year old who is newly training, but I just wish that he could make it happen.  I'm trying to pump this kid full of water, juice, fruits, and fiber, but he's refusing these items as if he knows what the outcome will be.

Hopefully, this is all a phase.

For real, though, I am very proud of Andy.  He was two and a half on Saturday, and I think he's doing quite well overall.  I think it helps now that I call the diapers "baby diapers," and Andy is not interested in being a baby anymore.  The other day, I tried to give him one of those snack-pack little cups of applesauce, the kind that look like they're in baby food containers, and he balked, yelling, "No BABY applesauce!  That's baby food!"  He knows that Alex eats baby food, but as big brother, he eats REAL food.  Real food that is BIG and not in BABY containers.  He knows babies sleep in cribs, drink from bottles, have binkies, and have to be told "NO DON'T EAT THAT" when they start gnawing on their big brother's favorite train.  And Andy is a big boy and considers himself more on the same plane as his parents, especially when it comes to eating, disciplining his little brother, putting on deodorant (Andy insists on having me or Chris "boop" him with some deodorant in the morning- don't ask), putting on his own coat, and selecting his own items at the grocery store, which I have to sneak back out of the cart and hide somewhere in an incorrect aisle when Andy's not looking (Target employees, I'm very sorry).

My little boy, he's growing up.  I just wish someone would help me get the point across that pooping in the potty is also a major part of being big.  Like, super major.  Just ask Andy's dad.

Alex, I hope he takes his time growing up.  As much as I'm happy for Andy on his potty training quest (even despite my grumbling), it makes me a bit ver klempt to think of how big he's getting.  I need Alex to stay little and cuddly and kind of adorably helpless for as long as he can, otherwise I'm going to end up begging Chris for a third baby, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get it.  Because as Chris has always said, he only has two hands for smacking, and that's nature's ratio.  One kid per hand.  Of course, together we have FOUR hands, but the car really only comfortably seats two kids anyway, and then there would be the matter of hauling THREE kids to the bathroom and most definitely losing one, so let's just forget the whole thing.