We tried to potty train our toddler (now a pre-schooler) last September. Despite my enthusiastic endeavours involving a water bottle strapped to a stuffed rabbit, several desert-sized treats and a new set of Disney underwear - the attempt fell flat on its face.
After that, basically, we forgot about it - pretended the issue had gone away. For six months we mumbled in hushed, unpromising voices about getting around to toilet training at some point in the future. Soon. Very soon. By the time he's three. Probably.
But soon is, um, here.
So, in a half-baked effort to revitalize the potty training effort, we've been gearing up in small steps. For instance, we've watched the Elmo Potty Time movie. About five times. Because anything that Matthew likes, that suggests that potty training is a good thing, is a good thing.
So we watched. And watched again. And we sung the "Potty Time" song. Over and over until one night I went to bed humming it and J gave me the same disapproving look as the time I tried seductive pirate talk at bed time.
And afterward, I spoke to him in a tone the denoted the seriousness of the situation: "So, Matthew, you know, Elmo isn't a baby any more. He's a big boy! And you know what big boys do? They pee and poop in the potty. They don't use diapers any more! Isn't that great?"
My pep talk was met with stony silence and a look of repugnance.
"And you know what, Matthew? You're not a baby, any more. You are a big boy. And so, that means it's time to throw away your diapers and use the potty! Yaaay!"
"No Mama, I'm not a big boy. I'm a small boy. I'm no throw away my diapers!"
And with that, he was gone in the direction of shiny toy trucks.
Not to be deterred, we kept on with our efforts: bringing out the fun underpants; showing him the brilliant amazing potty; talking about how some of his friends use the potty.
Still, no signs of hope.
Nevertheless, it has to be done soon. Actually, by September, to be precise, when he starts pre-school. My new plan involves summer days outdoors in the garden (where accidents don't matter), popsicles in abundance, and, most importantly, a case of wine for the evenings after.