After one overnight pee session at 4:30 (during which he peed and feasted on M&Ms), he went right back to sleep only to wake us from his doorway with that whining/crying/laughing/incoherently cursing sound that the Local 451st Toddler Union has mandated all members use only during times of extreme parental distress and exhaustion. Of course I step in a puddle of cold pee as I pick him up and wonder…not so much why there’s so much of it…but how long it must have been there to have gotten so cold. My advice at this point is to NOT have your carpets cleaned the week before potty training begins.
7:00 – 11:00 AM
The next 3 hours are filled with intense toddler bird-dogging during which we work in an expertly choreographed ballet of 15 – 20 minute shifts. As our 3-day weekend nears to a close, we know this is our last chance to make it work. The air is filled with a cacophony of potty-centric questions, directives, and facts. The more we want it, the more he toys with us.
I am instructed by Lindsay to go out and get lunch and for some reason, a Christmas Tree. The Brian of last weekend would have asked for some clarification on this request, or cautioned that, given the current circumstances, now might not be the best time to deck the halls…but the Brian of THIS weekend grabs his keys and goes. As I find myself wondering like a careless zombie through the fishing store immediately adjacent to the sandwich place where Lindsay thought I was, I consider never returning. Everyone in this fishing store probably knows how to use the potty…I could make a new life for myself here…we could all be happy and just talk about fishing…we could live on this beef jerky I’m holding for some reason. But then I think of my beautiful, very pregnant wife, who got us into this mess…and I decide to go home anyway. With renewed confidence, I walk next door, buy some subs, drive to the tree lot, hand the guy three 20’s and say, “I’ll take whatever this gets me…need to hurry,” and head home to whatever awaits me.
The obligatory nap-time turd
2:30 – 3:30 PM
As Jake sleeps, Lindsay and I sit together and stare at our lopsided Christmas tree. Nobody speaks because there’s nothing to say and the silence is cathartic. She does not notice my new shoes.
4:30 – 8:30 PM
Over the next few hours, Lindsay breaks down twice. Not because Jake isn’t getting it, but because we’ve wasted such a beautiful weekend chasing around a half-naked toddler and cleaning up his excrement every half hour or so. I try to console her, but I don’t know how because this whole ordeal has left my psyche and my back in shambles. Deep down, I’m glad she was the first to crack, but I don’t rub it in. We lie in bed, awaiting the inevitable bedtime turd that never comes, and wonder what we’ll do tomorrow when he’s back to school.
Learn about The Crocs of Shame – Click to read Dad Sucks at Potty Training – Day 4
Find out how it all started – Click to start from Day 1