I suppose most people have some deep, intractable fear of something or other. Snakes. Spiders (not naming names). The dark. Heights. Confinement.
I've never seen the proper name for my deep fear. I don't think I would want to.
What I fear is potty training.
I know, I know, everybody gets through it. I looked through the church directory, I watched movies, and I thought . . . All those people got potty trained! Their mothers did it, you can do it too!
Still, I was afraid. I'm not sure exactly what I was afraid of, except the prospect of absorbing every moment of my time wiping up accidents and extolling the virtues of dry pants.
And I finally realized that, afraid or not, the time had come. When a child starts sitting on the potty chair for fun and superintending the proper conducting of diapering, it seems only fair to at least let her give it a try.
So Monday we started. I spent it wiping up accidents and extolling the virtues of dry pants. We greeted everyone with inquiries about their moisture preferences. Everyone voted for dry, except for D2, who after all is a baby and doesn't know any better.
At the end of the day I wanted to quit, to the extent I was able to think at all. But I had promised to give it three days.
Tuesday we spent wiping up accidents and extolling the virtues of dry pants. With one key advance: most of the accidents occurred en route. There was a faint glimmer of hope. Still, one can only for so long chase around a toddler, watching for suspicious moments and trying to find out where they went.
So we will carry on, but at a slightly slower pace. I am counting the days until some waterproof cloth training pants will arrive in the mail, and we can resume use of our beds and couches.
Meanwhile, we have read Blue Bug's Circus 57 times, and can point to Blue Bug (who is a terrible role model for potty training, since he doesn't wear pants). We have learned several new words. We like dry pants. We like cheese. And the naptime load of laundry today was a little bit smaller.