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The other day I was in Target buying diapers, and some random woman stopped me to give me potty training advice.  She was the hippie-Earth-mother sort who probably worked as a doula and sported bumper stickers all over the back of her ’88 Subaru station wagon pimping for La Leche League and The Coalition for Tantric Home Water Births.  She skeptically eyed the pile of training pants in my cart and gave me unsolicited advice about how to effectively potty train a toddler.  She wanted to know if I’ve tried this? and if I’ve tried that? and she talked to me like I was a new mother who didn’t have a clue about how to raise my own children.

I think she wanted me to be grateful for her brilliant advice.  I really just wanted her to shut up.

I nodded and made some vaguely polite noises, but I didn’t want to explain to this well meaning yet irritating-as-hell stranger that the diapers in my cart were for my 7 year old son who I’ve been actively trying to toilet train for over 5 years now, so YES, I’VE TRIED THAT!

Trust me, whatever it is, I’ve done it.  I’ve Once Upon a Pottied and Elmo Potty Timed my way through the years.  I’ve done the Potty Dance and put the stickers on the chart and armed myself with bribery gummy bears.  I’ve bought aquarium potties and Sesame Street potties and potties that laugh and potties that cry and overpriced European designer potties and toilet paper with puppies on it and bullseyes that float in the toilet bowl to give little wizzers something to aim at.  I’ve hosted potty parties, locked us in the bathroom with nothing but gallons of apple juice and saltines, and even gone cold turkey, taking away all the diapers until my washing machine attempted suicide to end that particular misery.  Seriously, I’ve tried it all, it just hasn’t been enough.

And if that doesn’t make me feel like enough of a failure, Mikey’s lack of toilet training is a huge concern to my family.  They rarely ask me about how his speech is developing or whether he’s learning to socialize appropriately, but they’re constantly asking if he’s out of diapers yet.  And while I sometimes think that many of my less tolerant relatives are just concerned about my kid peeing on their furniture (love me, love my child’s urine?), I get that potty training is a huge benchmark.  I mean, not peeing in your pants or understanding prepositions – which do you consider a greater life skill?  I understand how important it is that he figure it out someday, but it doesn’t make me feel any better when they repeatedly ask if he’s potty trained yet.  I assure you, if he were I would tell you.

But here’s the thing: he’s capable.  He’ll pull his pants down to pee in cups, watering cans, and his little brother’s milk glass any time an opportunity presents itself.  He hasn’t worn a pull-up to school in over a year because he has a particular affinity towards the urinal there.   He’ll even change his own diaper if I’m not fast enough for him.  The kid is totally capable, he just doesn’t want to, and as with so many other things in Michael’s life, if he doesn’t want to do it then it just ain’t going to happen.

So there’s really no point in my feeling bad about it, because it doesn’t matter what I’ve tried and haven’t tried – it’s not really up to me.  This kid will toilet train himself when he’s good and ready, and no unnecessary advice from concerned strangers is going to make the least bit of difference.  The kid’ll figure it out someday, and in the mean time all I can do is love him, support him, and buy wet wipes in bulk.  Lots and lots of wet wipes in bulk.