One Week

It started at the spray grounds when we pulled up, mommy climbed out of the front seat, opened the back passenger door, and looked at me ever so calmly and said "I don't have a swim diaper, so it's either swim or go home." I chose swim naked under my swim trunks. That, right there, was the end to diapers in my house. Of course this trip was not complete without a trip to the park porta potty. The first introduction to a porta potty went something like this: I opened the door with wide anticipation to find the good 'ol white flushable toilet and there sat a gray dimly lite hole. Looking up with complete misunderstanding, I promptly declared there was no way that I was peeing in a hole. This of course reminded my mother of the time they were in Singapore and when given the option to pee over a hole or the safe white bowl, she choose bowl. But then Emily saved the day, as always, and showed me that if a girl can pee in a porta potty, I could too. After 20 minutes of mother standing by, it happened, lots of praise given, and then we all breathed a sigh of relief and some much needed fresh air.

Saturday morning found us waking up in a diaper but having it pulled off the minute I gained consciousness. The next thing I know I'm being told that I wear big boy underwear. I then proceeded to whimper and attempt to discuss the logic's of why I needed a diaper. It didn't work; I stood naked for a while where after sometime I gave in and put on the underwear. My underwear is decked out with lots of primary colors and covered in Mickey Mouse. You all know your jealous of the stripes with Mickey covering my rear in different facets. I spent that day learning the boundaries of my bladder and trying to make it to the potty in time. Considering it was my first full day where my parents didn't give up or get frustrated, I had two pee accidents and three pooping accidents. By the time Saturday night came to a close, I was out of underwear and going commando, but that wasn't going to stop my mother from diaper refusal. We ended the night with a serious conversation of having to use a diaper only at night, but upon waking ripping it off like a band aid.

And that's exactly what we did come Sunday morning. It was raw and rough, but I gave up the diaper, sat on the potty and went. And that was it folks, I never looked back, pee wise. We even went to the movies and saw "Cars 2" with no accidents and a visit to the potty in between. Mommy and I were that typical mother-son team running down the halls, she saying "hold it" while I clutched my nether regions in hopes that doing so would prevent any spillage before we hit the white porcelain god. And then when we got there, I didn't even have to go. She's beginning to think that I like to take potty breaks just for fun. We spent the day between home and venturing out for shopping trips and testing my bladder to see how long I could hold it. This kid can hold it ladies and gentlemen. We ended Sunday with not a single pee accident but two poop accidents. It was at that moment I knew it was never going to be the same, no more diapers, no more wipes. I've entered todderhood and I'm not looking back and neither is my parents bank account.

Monday I went to school with under-roos and did swimmingly well! I spent the rest of the week mastering the skill of being King of the potty and stuffing my belly full of fruit snacks fit for royalty. I still remain insistent on testing the patience of my parents with the pooping side of things, going upstairs to get a toy and coming back with junk in my trunk, but I guess all things come in due time. I've had to throw away several pairs of underwear (or at least that's what I think I'm doing) all because the garbage man likes my underwear better than me.

So we find ourselves here...one week later, fully peed trained, with new underwear promptly displaying all of my favorite cartoon characters, a potty chair in the living room so to not interrupt my lifestyle, and proud parents beaming from ear to ear. Yesterday afternoon I said "Mommy when I pee in the potty, you are so proud, but when I poop my pants you are so sad." How can I help it if I think you're funny when you're mad. Trying hard not to smile though I feel bad. It's been one week!