What I’ve been hoping for the past year has finally happened. I sent my kids to the grandparents for a long weekend and the younger one came back potty trained. Success! Not mine, but who cares.
Potty training my son had taken over our lives. I’d stressed about it, read articles about it, and even blogged about it.
It wasn’t that my son wasn’t capable for these last several months. After a long day out he’d come home with a dry Pull-up, but he refused to wear underwear or keep his Pull-up dry at home. My husband and I have deduced that not going to the potty was his way of having control over something. We tell him when to eat, go to sleep, wake up, and his older brother tells him what to do the rest of the time.
The older one even tried to help in the potty training department, but mixed in with all of the “I’m so proud of you” declarations after the little one successfully used the toilet were a few “you have to poop on the potty. Now!”
“I’m not into pooping on the potty. I’m not into that.” He told us the other day in the car. He would not wear underwear because he wasn’t into that either.
But at Grandma’s house everything is different. The boys clean their plates, say please and thank you, and, apparently, use the toilet.
My mother-in-law told my husband not to tell me that she’d succeeded where I’d failed. She didn’t want me to feel bad. But really, I don’t mind!