It's not him, it's me. Ok, really, at almost three years old H is more than a little reluctant to give up diapers. But I'm dragging my feet along with him. And I'm the MOMMY. I should be leading the way, championing the use of the big boy underpants and trips to his froggy potty chair. Instead I half-heartedly ask each day if he wants to go sit in the bathroom, wear (insert character of the day) cotton briefs and be a big boy. I secretly sigh in relief when he responds with a great big "NO WAY, Mom, No Way!"
What is wrong with me? This is a rite of passage; other parents wear it like a badge of honor. There certainly are volumes of how-to information out there. I have eagerly awaited and then cheered for the other developmental milesones as they appeared. I've watched with pride as H has changed from baby to toddler to soon-to-be preschooler. In so many areas he is above average. (I get to say that, it's my blog.) So why do neither one of us want to move forward when it comes to toilet training?
I dread the mess. I dread the inconvenience. I dread being tied down to the house even more than we are now. When nature calls and we are in public, how on earth will I get him into a bathroom stall while holding on to the baby? Yes, Liam's stroller will fit in the handicapped stall. I guess we'll make it work. I just can't get excited about it.
I do not want to hold him back from the opportunities he would have if he were in big boy pants. I've already chosen not to sign him up for t-ball this spring. He would be the only one on the team in diapers and they discourage this. I guess it's bad for team morale when the short-stop is laying on a changing pad in rightfield.
When Henry wants to wear underwear and use the toilet, I will encourage him in every way. I will be his biggest cheerleader and record his achievement with pride. I promise. We're just not there yet.