This potty training thing happens tomorrow. Send wine. Or maybe that Oh Crap Potty Training book I was supposed to read. I have teeny tiny underwear. Lots of them. We have an obnoxious Minnie Mouse potty that cheers when you “flush” it, a ridiculous device I swore I would never buy, but I seem to justify a lot of things when I buy them secondhand.
She’s ready for this. I am not.
I’m a planner. Infertility was so hard to go through because I could never plan anything. I have all these little underwear that makes me want to squeal with cuteness and a potty I want to throw down the stairs and Chris took Thursday and Friday off, and we’re as ready as we can be, but I’m still not, you know, ready.
I don’t think anyone ever is though. She’s pooping on the toilet almost every night before bed, and she will let me know periodically when we’re out and about, but she doesn’t ever want to go during the day when I ask her, so in all honesty, my life is probably over.
It’s not the best timing because I have MOPS and a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and Friday she has “school” and Chris and I are getting out on a date that night. Then we have our niece’s birthday party Saturday night and I don’t know. I feel like I’m going to have to apologize to a lot of people in the next week for Olivia peeing on their floors.
But who knows? She could surprise me. Someone said when it comes to potty training you have to have endless patience and very low expectations. Right, OK.
Please y’all. Send wine.