2014 is the year of potty training my son.
The year I have dreaded since the nurses held his little body up for the first time and I saw that he had a penis. The year where my carpets will soak up the lovely scent of urine, and I’ll have chafed hands from the excessive amount of hand washing that will occur.
Why do I have so much dread?
Because I’m terrible at potty training. When we did it with my daughter, she ended up terrified of poop and having to get an enema. Yeah, that really happened.
But with my daughter, at least I understood the parts. I knew where she should sit, what she should wipe and how the process all worked. However, with a boy, I’ll be damned if I know how that part works. Heck, I can’t figure it out on grown men, how can I tell a 2 year old what to do? And honestly, considering there’s a stain of pee around most men’s toilets, it seems that even grown men aren’t sure how it all works either.
So 2014 – screw you. I might make this the year I teach my son how to change his own diaper – I’m guessing that will be a heck of alot easier than what I have in store for myself in the next 12 months.12 Comments