Potty Training, 2.2

If any of you have stuck with me long enough (hi, Mom!) to have read about my trials with potty-training Simon, this will sound familiar. Actually, it was a piece of cake: the pee part, that is. When it came to #2, it was a year-and-a-half battle. It nearly did me in. I'm surprised my son is even speaking to me at this point, I'm sure I screwed it up so bad.

But whatever, just like you all promised me, eventually he did it. And it was his choice, not mine. If there's one thing I learned it's this: you can put a kid on a potty, but you can't make him poop. Seriously, try it. I dare you.

Well, this summer Talya decided she was ready. She pretty much potty-trained herself. We went a week in underpants (do you know how hard it is to find little girl underpants that don't have freaking princesses on them?!) with no accidents. She was peeing, she was pooping, she was a potty prodigy.

Until.

She decided she was scared to poop on the potty. Without hesitation, I slapped huggies back on those buns and told her to let me know when she was ready because I was NOT going down that road again.

I thought it would motivate her, but I should have known better. She happily wore her diapers until... this weekend. She showed a little spark of interest, so I let her pick out some Minnie underpants (that's panties to you, Adrianne) and I let her wear them.

We did the whole set-the-potty-timer thing and she was back on the horse. She's done great. No accidents at church or the Y or in the car. And I dare say she has the cutest little underwear-butt I've ever seen in my whole life. I would show you a picture but the creep that was on Dr. Phil this morning caused me to rethink that.

But, like her big brother, she's scared to poop on the potty. It hasn't escalated to any sort of emotional level yet, so here's my plan. Let's see how long I can keep it going:

1. I vow to never bring Pull-Ups into this house. That of-the-devil product can only make matters worse. I don't even want her to know that there is any option between "soil yourself" and "be a big girl."
2. I vow to remain cheerful while cleaning up the poop in the pants and remind myself that it's better (though grosser) than the alternative Pull-Ups-of-Doom, which will only prolong this process.
3. I vow to keep her in underpants during naps because she stays dry, but (and here's the hard part) I also vow to get off my internet-addicted butt and get her out of bed when she wakes up so that she can go potty.
4. I vow to make her "practice" when she has poop-in-the-pants accidents (that are in no way accidental), even when I'm in the middle of making lunch and waffles are burning and Charlie has uncapped every marker on the art table. I vow to make these practice sessions of running back and forth to the potty the perfect combination of upbeat and sucky so that she won't fall apart but she'll be motivated to avoid them. Imagine lots of sing-songy "Poopy pants are disgusting!" and you'll get the general idea. Try not to be jealous.

Am I missing something?