We’re on day four of the Potty Train. So far, knock on wood, so good. And it’s all because of a pink potty chair.
After tearing my hair out over the fact that Elizabeth seemed to go from potty trained to All Pull Ups All The Time, I finally decided to have a conversation with her. You know, to see if I could figure out where we went wrong.
Five minutes into our little chat, I realised it wasn’t my fault.
It wasn’t her fault.
It was her father’s fault.
Now, before you start thinking I’m going to be engaging in a little ex bashing, let me be clear. It’s his fault because he’s a guy, not because he’s an ex husband.
When we potty trained our son, he had a little potty chair and a ring for the toilet, but he didn’t really need either one because he, well, stood up. My ex, being a man and all, didn’t really think all that potty training equipment was necessary for our daughter.
So instead of using a ring, he let her sit on the toilet. And instead of doing what I did in those instances and holding her hands and putting a stool under her feet, he left her on her own.
In his defence, she did ask for privacy.
But he should have realised what might happened when a little girl with a little bum sits on a big toilet.
That’s right, folks. She fell in.
Three times. (You’d think he’d learn after the first time.)
Which traumatized her to the extent that she no longer wanted to potty train. Until I got my hands on a little pink potty chair and she exclaimed, “I won’t fall in!”