As you may know, we’re attempting to potty train Smush. It’s going swimmingly. And by swimmingly, I mean it’s been a couple of weeks, she hasn’t peed in the potty once, and she’s now trying not to drink because I was an idiot and told her drinks help us go pee pee. Smush – 1, Mediocre Mom – 0.
The other night we marched her into the bathroom, armed with her Dora potty seat, two potty books, and the patience of a saint. She promptly proceeded to pee before her jammies were off. Super.
We sat her on the potty anyway, because that’s what you do. You sit them on the potty to associate peeing with the toilet. As you can tell, it’s been working fabulously.
She sat there for a while, talking, singing, generally keeping herself amused. The Nerd stepped out for a second to chat with me, but stopped halfway through a sentence to begin the following conversation:
Nerd: …I need a new toothbrush.
Me: Huh?
Nerd: *glancing toward Smush* I need a new toothbrush.
(We see Smush, vigorously scrubbing…her feet. Her dirty little feet. With the Nerd’s toothbrush.)
Me: It’s not that bad. I can sterilize it. It’s just her…
(We again see Smush, no longer scrubbing her feet, but her, umm, nether regions.)
Me: Yes, yes you are definitely going to need a new toothbrush.
I guess it’s good that she’s listening when I tell her about cleaning head to toe at bath time. Right? And about how important it is to brush our teeth, although she’s slightly off on her anatomy.
Has anyone noticed that these stories are not in most parenting books? Hoards of novels on proper nutrition, behavioral development, and socialization, but nobody says, “When your kid cleans their derriere with your toothbrush, we recommend the following course of action.”
Show me a parenting book on what to do when your preschooler starts putting stick-on boobs on her stuffed animals, and I might be interested. Parenting experts my foot.
