“Oh, before I forget to tell you, we need to bring underwear to daycare this week. They are starting to seriously work on potty training.”

It took me a second to wrap my head around that statement. I slumped down in my seat and let out a sigh.

“Ugh. But what if I’m not ready. I’m not ready to do this.”

“Babe, this isn’t about you.”

Before I had two children, I thought that I’d FOR SURE only have one in diapers at a time. I mean, who wants to change two kids?

In real life I have two kids 20 months apart. The only time that I’d have one not in diapers is because my eldest was probably streaking the living room when I turned around to grab a clean diaper mid diaper change or because they’re in the tub.

I had mentally prepared myself for some sort of oldest child potty boot camp this summer (near his third birthday), but I was going to do this on my time. I know that my kids aren’t going to go to college wearing diapers, so I was hoping that the more time I gave them, the easier it would be.

Our daycare didn’t get my memo.

March was the month. It was undies time for the whole class. We came armed with Buzz Lightyear and Spiderman underoos with name stickers and a bunch of pairs of backup pants and socks. And those backups were used. EV.ER.Y. day.

But those glorious, amazing women who care for my child on a daily basis were on to something. After a couple of weeks, he came home on a Friday wearing the same pants I sent him to school in. I furiously dug in the daycare bag for his daily sheet. HOLY . . . he used the potty all day. No accidents.

We kept that train rolling and except for night time, we’re a one diapered child household.

But now I have become a crazy lady who scouts bathrooms. If there is a hint of a need to use the restroom, I drop everything (sorry darling second child) and hustle to the nearest toilet. Heaven help us if there’s a line.

And once in a public restroom, it’s as if my child must touch everything. I’m not even a germaphobe – not even close – and the amount of floor/toilet touching that my child does is enough to churn my stomach. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if I eventually utter the words “don’t lick the floor” or something equally disgusting.

It’s not all gross, it’s also a laugh riot. Curiosity and lack of volume control usually lead to a few giggles from adjacent stalls in public restrooms. You just never know what will come out of his mouth.

But all of this is to say this “once your kids are potty trained, it’s so much easier” stuff is nonsense at the beginning. You know what was easier? Diapers.


Chaaron is a Nebraska native who lives in Alexandria, VA with her husband, RP, her son, Dash and her daughter, Pippa. By day, she's a program manager with a public charity in DC and by night, she is happily occupied with living room dance parties and dodging errant duplo pieces. She's terrible at updating her blog, but you can find her little slice of the internet at senseandnonsenseblog.com.