Biggie was 90% potty trained when we got pregnant with Smalls, at the distinguished age of 2. That kid took to potty training like a pig to mud. Pooping on the potty was his speciality, and he was an over achiever. By the time Smalls was born Biggie had just turned 3 and was totally out of diapers. You jealous? Calm down. Because this isn’t a story with a happy ending.
Smalls never had much interest in the potty. His Tinder profile would read “likes to scream, ignore authority, and loves to shit his pants.” You just finally got around to making your own lunch? Guess what, that foul odor ain’t the trash. You just FINALLY got to sit down on the couch? Guess who shit themselves again. It is making me murdery. And he always tells you he didn’t poop himself. Like the green cloud circling him isn’t a dead giveaway.
You tell him it’s time to go potty and he wants to bring a suitcase full of toys with him. “I bring my monster truck?” Do you want Mommy to have a nervous breakdown?! Get your smelly ass in here, tiny demon with half my genes. Then you put him on the potty and he cries. Like I’m sorry YOU don’t want to be in here? I’m the one who has to wipe you. Cry me a river. Did you really just ask me to wear undies after all this? Wash your hands and get lost.
So Dading taught him to stand up and pee. He likes that, no surprise. He sees his older brother do it, and everything he does it cool so why not. Then he just took it to another level by using candy bribes. You thought this was a game?! And lo and behold, he is on rare occasions pooping in the toilet. And more frequently still blowing out his Pull-Ups.
Why are second children so difficult?! Send wine.