It’s official. Jack’s potty trained.
Almost one year after we stocked his drawer with The Big Boy Pants. Created a Surprise Box for Potty Time. Scrubbed stains off soiled bottoms. Bribed. Manipulated. And offered everything short of $1 million. The 2.8-year-old finally surrendered the diapers. With a smile. Number Two’s in the toilet. And acting like the Superman flying on his undies.
Tomorrow marks seven days straight. Only one pee accident at school. Well two counting him stripping down on the playground. But no mishaps at home. Straight from plastic to cotton without a hiccup.
I can’t say we mandated the action. Or even unlocked a secret potty training technique. Last Wednesday, Jack just decided it was time. With a little coaxing from Dad.
“I have to poop. I go to my room,” Jack skips away.
“Why don’t you try to poop in the potty?” Justin suggests. Echoing like a broken record.
“Noooo! Me don’t want to,” Jack continues on his path.
“You can do it, buddy. I know you’re a big boy,” Justin keeps at him.
“Nooooooooo,” Jack reaches his bedroom door.
“I’ll give you a Skittle.”
And that was it. We put on underpants and never looked back. He even wants to wear them to bed. I hate to discourage, but I’m uninterested in cleaning pee sheets at 5 a.m. When a smiley baby usually wakes me.
So, I’m not sure if it was the Skittles. Ease of drawstring pants. Comfort of Big Boy undies. Accomplishment of "peeing like Daddy." Or, just simply just the right time.