Monday, June 30, 2008

Potty Training Begins

Today is the big day. We are starting potty training, for reals this time.

Victor is so enthusiastic about the potty that he's already on his fourth pair of underwear.

This is our second attempt at potty training. Our first try was just after Zeke was born. I took the trouble to read lots of books about potty training and then completely disregarded the strong advice against beginning training after the birth of a new sibling.

The up side of our failed attempt is that Victor already knows the mechanics of sitting, standing, using the stool, pulling up underwear, washing hands, and aiming (mostly). The down side was, well, the failure.

My friend Kari advised me to wait three months and try again, and this time I took the expert advice.

So far this morning we've had three half-accidents. That's what I call it when Victor starts to wet his pants and then stops midwetting. You might say, "But he's still wet!" I say, "But he felt it and stopped and put the rest in the potty." And by potty, I mean toilet.

I have high hopes this time, and I am taking LE's advice to pray at the beginning of each day. Any further expert advice is very welcome!

3 comments:

Liz said...

I just want you to know that green is THE color for 2008. How chique are you?! I also appreciate the font choice on the white background. Makes your posts very easy to read. Nice job.

Your posts are always enjoyable. I hope you are showing the boys my picture every day and telling them who I am. :)

Cyndie said...

I know--cactus green is so hot right now.

I will be sure to quiz the boys on your identity!

le said...

Oh no, half accidents are ok. I loved that half accidents once they started happening instead of full accidents. It means he wants to please you and his trying his best. I can still handle half accidents, but full accidents get a lecture about no potty treats. I know its terrible we are still using potty treats. I don't care. If half accidents are finished in the toilet I still give a treat. My son has no sense of aim.