Hallelujah!

Houston, we have potty training.  (I'll wait for you to pick yourself up off the floor before you continue reading...)

Before and during this adventure with Dallas, I read just about everything I could on the internet about potty training.  On one website, I was told that day three of a five day potty regiment would be the tipping point: either we would quit and go back to diapers or soldier on.  I was determined not to go back to diapers, so I was mentally prepared to keep going.  But Wednesday was quite a day.  There were SO many accidents, Dallas refused to sit on the potty when I asked him to, and I was over the whole thing.  I even texted Trevor at one point and told him we needed to have a serious talk about whether or not to bother enrolling Dal in the upcoming preschool year.  (Yeah, I know.  I overreact.  It's charming.  Dig?)  I know I cried on Wednesday; I'm just not sure how many times I cried.  Dallas also hadn't been sleeping well, so I knew that was part of the issue.  He's crabby when he's tired.  I wonder where on earth he gets that from?  At 4:30 Wednesday afternoon, he asked to go to bed.  I started to worry that he was sick, and I put him to bed hoping that a middle of the night vomiting session wouldn't derail the potty training process.  Not a problem.  He woke up at 7 PM to eat and then played his Leapster until about 9 PM.  

Add to the Wednesday woes when Lottie mentioned to me that she was feeling like she wasn't getting enough attention recently. Ouch. (Her exact words.  Sometimes smart kids make me mad.)  She was totally right, but it really hurt to hear it.  And I was still getting over the fact that I had backed into Trevor's car.  Before I went to bed that night, I decided that we would move forward with potty training no matter what, but I, personally, was giving up. If Dallas were still in diapers on Prom night, so be it.  That would be his date's problem, not mine.  Wednesday was a bad, bad day.

Thursday morning dawned and I was dreading another day of cheerily saying, "That's okay, honey!  Accidents happen!"  I mean, I fully believe that and I'm not angry when he has an accident, but there are only so many times I can say it without becoming either shrill or dead inside.  But something happened.  I don't know if Dallas benefitted from a good night's sleep or if a potty fairy took pity on my weeping, but Thursday was different.  I didn't push Dallas or lead him to the bathroom every thirty minutes.  I reminded him that he could go any time he wanted to go, and he could ask me for help whenever he needed me.  That was it.  And.  It.  Worked.  He told me when he had to go, we went in the bathroom together, and he did what he needed to do.  Victory!  I wasn't too excited, though.  It was a fluke, a one-time deal.  But then it kept happening and happening and happening.  The whole day he told me when he needed to go.  We even went to the park, to the hair salon, and to McDonald's with no accidents.  One huge milestone was that Dallas went on a "big" potty at the salon.  He was scared, but he sucked it up for momma and peed in a big potty.  What an amazing day!  We did have a couple of poop accidents, but I couldn't blame the kid there.  After all, the last time he pooped in the potty, he threw up.  So, you know, there has to be some aversion there.  I started to feel cautiously optimistic.  Could he really be getting it?

Friday was a brighter morning.  Lottie begged for Dallas to be able to go to the park with her: he had basically been exiled to the house with me for potty boot camp the whole week.  Our sitter, Nicole, was willing to take him along, with a backpack full of extra clothes, of course, and off they went.  No accidents.  They were gone for three hours.  No accidents.  Dallas ate lunch.  No accidents.  Dallas went potty.  The kids went to their grandparents in the afternoon.  No accidents.  The kids came home and played for a while.  Dallas pooped on the potty.  OMG.  This is what it feels like to have two potty trained kids.

I know that there will still be accidents.  Realistically, I know that this journey isn't over, but five days ago, I wasn't sure we would even be at this point today.  I have so many emotions running rampant through my head.  I'm so proud of how far he has come, and I love that he's proud of himself.  I feel sad that Lottie has felt neglected lately.  I have been really focused on getting my shoulder back into shape and getting Dallas to ditch his diapers, and she got a little lost in the middle of everything.  I'm proud of her for telling me how she was feeling and for forgiving me.  We have started reading Charlotte's Web together, and I'm enjoying the quiet, snuggly time with her.  Both of my kids are growing up so quickly.  Cliché as it is, time is flying.  Some days feel like they drag on and on, but as a whole, I don't know where the days are going.  Although I miss the sweet-smelling baby stage, I love watching the kids learn and grow and become who they're going to be.

All sappiness aside, for the first time in four years, six months, and twenty-six days, I AM DONE WITH DIAPERS.  Well, except at night, but that barely counts.  Cut me some slack, people.