Potty Down Like It's 2009

It was a Saturday and we were focused on training Hunter to go to the potty based on the 48 hour theory of no diapers. This was on the heels of Hunter’s daycare jacking up the monthly rate to thirteen hundred dollars a month. I still haven’t figured out the care situation for Stevie, but all I knew was that I had two day cares to worry about.

First things first, the pre-k programs were significantly cheaper, if the child was potty trained. Besides, I completed the application claiming that he was potty trained and for six hundred fifty dollars a month, how could I not? At what stage did they have to be potty trained? Is there a class curve? What’s the margin for error? We were up on the waiting list and received the call, I was determined to fulfill the divine prophecy of potty.


Shane and I watched Hunter carefully, we enticed him with delicious wholesome filtered water in which he threw across the room. As soon as he had an urge to urinate, we plopped him on the potty and in the repetitive words of other parents before us, “pee pee in the potty.”

Not clinically proven to be a “control freak,” I possibly nagged my dear husband, with an attention span of a germ, to never turn your back for a second. I had too had to go to the potty.

Upon my return, Hunter, in full monty, urinated on the front window while standing up on his table, on the sofa, and in the kitchen. Hunter shamelessly tinkled as Shane was as effective as a wet mop in a corner. As regularity comes with a schedule, I anticipated Hunter’s droppings estimated time of arrival was anytime now.

In the playroom, Father and son delightfully played with his Thomas the train set. My cerebrum had been dulled down by the constant concentration, as I fought off a nap that weaved an intricate web. It had only been an hour.

Suddenly a shriek from dear husband, “shit, he took a crap!” Once again, dear husband was bedazzled by our son.

“You were playing, what happened?” I was curiously baffled by husband’s lack of awareness.
“Exactly, we were playing and he stood up and there it was.” My dear husband rattled.

There it was in all it’s magnificence, Hunter’s fresh droppings. Dear husband, equipped with a weak stomach, began his rhythmic gagging. Hunter pointed in great amazement, “big poo poo momma, big poo poo.” In silent failure, we threw in the towel.

In the words of other lenient parents before us, “They will let you know when they’re ready, you can’t force it.”

In the past weeks, Hunter has finally taken to the potty and I am beyond thrilled. So we missed the boat on the six hundred fifty dollars pre-k. Hot dog! Hunter can whizz like a mother trucker!

This is Shellie kicking her heels up back to you Bob at the studio!