You know what they say... it's rarely wise to open a new front in war. Especially if you're losing. Resources and logistics are spread too thin; it's hard to successfully strategize another battle; morale begins to fade. Well, throwing caution and common sense to the wind, I have opened not one, not two but three fronts in the potty training war. And it's a scary, scary place.
I'd like to think I'm deep in the trenches on this one, but in fact, I think I'm still in the staging ground.
We started one morning after desperate attempts to keep Evelyn clothed failed repeatedly. It was suggested that we tape her diaper, or put it on backwards to foil her efforts. I went one better - I did both. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
Evelyn: My diaper is stuck!
Me: (smugly) Yep, it is.
Colin: (coming over to investigate) Diaper on backwards!
Me: (less smugly) Okaaaay, now don't fiddle with it.
Evelyn: Oh, now in back... (reaches behind her back) There we go!
She pulled off the tape and found the tabs. The diaper came off. Victory was hers. That was when I decided that if you can't beat 'em, you join 'em. We've been doing morning toilet training sessions ever since. I suppose the "experts" don't recommend part-time potty training, but then again, they are not experts in potty training triplets when 26 weeks pregnant. I doubt many people are. I do get a lot of advice, but it usually assumes that you have two arms per child.
My sister commented that potty training is messy business, but my issue is not the mess. I can deal with that. It's the logistics of getting three two year olds on two potties (no room for a third) without having to lift them 1,367 times over the baby gate that's blocking the play room doorframe.
Remember, they move as a horde and I am outnumbered.
So, after some strategizing and a lot of trial and error, I have conquered (for now) the logistics by moving the gate into the hall, blocking the linen closet, master bedroom and nursery from invasion, putting everything into the bathtub they could possible get their hands on and putting everything else behind heavy fortifications. That's the easy part. It takes me half an hour to prepare for the skirmish, and then I take a deep breath and prepare for the onslaught.
They burst forth, clambouring to get on and off the potties in our very tight bathroom, pushing and shoving. There's me, alone in the fray, bending down to get undies on and off, getting walloped in the head by disassembled potty parts, wiping up pee because someone missed the potty; someone else put their foot in the full potty and is tracking pee everywhere, shooing the dog who wants to be part of the action, triple flushing the toilet before the tank can refill... They must go at least four times each in 5 minutes. Racing to get someone on the potty and having to breech a cunning blockade of children brandishing books ("Mummy, read this!), a toy jeep and a stuffed monkey. Being subjected to the cruel psychological warfare tactics of being informed: "Moooommmmyyyy, peepee!" whilst having someone on the potty and keeping someone else from playing in it. "Do you really have to go?!"I ask, desperately, "No. I'm okay". "Yes, I'm not". "Uh oh. I peepee". By the end of the "session", my back is killing me, the heartburn is up in my ears, and I'm sweating up a storm. The Ducklings, however, are loving every minute of it.
I know we'll get there. We might be working at crossed purposes at the moment, but that will change. I can see victory (far, far away) on the horizon.
Our first casualty. He got peed on. Do not ask.
The armour. Yes, we do go through this many undies in a session, although in Evelyn's case it's because she can't decide which to wear. I did debate not using underwear at first, but for a bunch of reasons, this works best for us.
The battlefield.
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