Let’s be honest: I was not the eager parent when it came to potty training my daughter. While my mother-in-law was practically bursting with excitement and every parenting blog I followed was showcasing toddlers in underwear, I opted for a much more relaxed (read: lazy) approach. My technique involved casually asking her every now and then, “Hey, would you like to stop soiling yourself and give the potty a try?” The response always came after a prolonged pause: “No thanks, Mama.” So, we continued our routine.
Eventually, I decided to introduce some incentives for her to use the toilet. I started adding bags of Skittles to the grocery cart each week. The deal was simple: one for sitting, two for peeing, and a whole handful for a successful poop. She was all in, and before her kindergarten orientation, she was filling that little Princess Potty like a champ. I wasn’t failing as a mom after all.
Then came the real kicker: a three-year-old simply cannot wipe her own bottom effectively. I mean, I’m nearly 37, and somehow, during my trips to Walmart, I often find myself one wipe short of a thorough clean. Expecting my daughter, who had just transitioned from diapers, to have the dexterity needed for a clean wipe is like asking her to thread a needle while I shout about the importance of precision.
This was not going to work.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t even interested in toilet paper, which was shocking given that every YouTube video insists kids love to mess around with the soft, fluffy rolls. One time, I asked her to grab some toilet paper and prepare it for wiping. Instead, she carefully tore off a quarter of a square, formed it into a tiny ball, and then proceeded to wipe her bottom. In the process, she lost it in the abyss and used her entire hand to navigate the mess. I’ll admit it: I gagged, then chuckled. Who has the solution to this conundrum? I found myself longing for the days of wrapping up a tiny bum in a snug diaper to toss into the diaper genie. Now I faced a new set of challenges:
- Keeping her company as she swung her legs, asked about my day, and then made that exaggerated grimace while her face turned a delightful shade of red.
- Hovering over her and the open toilet as I helped wipe her clean.
- Assisting with the flush and then disinfecting the toilet, because suddenly her poop was reminiscent of Andre the Giant—monstrous in size and tenacious in sticking to the bowl, a testament to her less-than-stellar diet (which I also contributed to, so, ugh).
- Adjusting the footstool for her after she pinched her skin trying to climb up to reach the sink.
- Leaving the bathroom for her “privacy.”
- Returning to ensure she wasn’t getting into my things (Hi, I’m four).
- Coming back yet again to adjust the water temperature.
- Peeking in to make sure my belongings were safe.
- Helping her pump soap into her hands, and then realizing the second hand had more than the first, because math is critical when you’re three.
- Turning off the stove to check on her after she had spent six minutes “washing her hands,” only to find her grinning at me in the mirror as the water cascaded off the counter and onto her toes.
So, next week, I’m going radical: back to diapers for her. I’m calling it my new parenting strategy: Reverse Tiger Helicopter. When I eventually write my book on this (tentatively titled Wipe Out!), I’ll be so wealthy that she can hire her own personal butt wiper for school.
It’s an aspiration, but isn’t that how all great ideas begin?