So, I’m sorry to say, that today’s guest post is an alternate to something much juicier. Nicole from The Mombshelter offered me something that was so, so hard to pass up. Ultimately, I was afraid my father would read it, assume the story wasn’t really from a “friend”, and make me feel awkward about it.
Seriously, the story she offered was that good.
Instead, I made a request about something I’m terrified of: I wanted Nicole to put a funny spin on potty train. And she DID. Just not in a way that made me feel better.
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Of course I shamelessly neglect my own blog but as soon as I hear the words, ‘guest post’, I’m out the door. There’s tire marks outside of my house and I’m a little breathless from the drive but I love myself some guest posting. I’m all like what do you want me to write about, what stories should I regale you with, what words of wisdom are you anxiously awaiting, how can I enlighten your life?
And there’s the lovely KLZ all over the internets and me secretly planning to steal her away to Canada because she would totally make an awesome Canadian. So I of course was aiming to please, because its her and she so diligently tries to tame insanity and she’s practically Canadian…
Until the, “what about an amusing potty training story”. I had to look behind me while reading that email, so sure was I that there was a Candid Camera crew peeking around the corner or Demi Moore‘s husband was going to jump out and punk my ass.
Amusing potty training story?!
Obviously this woman’s child is not potty trained and she has probably never even read my blog. Because amusing potty training story?
So for my dearest, sweet, innocent KLZ I give you:
Potty Training in Bad Metaphors, Awkward Similes and Extreme Over-Exaggeration
The annals of my blog are riddled with tales of poop and pee, stories laying about like dead flies on a guest room light fixture. Left to gather dust, untouched because their presence far outweighs the gag inducing task of picking them out with a paper towel. Human refuse being a topic that perforates much of my life. And an area in which I would consider myself somewhat of an expert, mainly because I live in a house filled with healthy colons.
But potty training?
Potty training almost broke me. It nearly sucked the life out of me, slowly and inefficiently like an old Dirt Devil from the 80′s, where you think its going to make your life easier but once you get into the real grunt work of the job its just easier to leave the cat hair on the carpet or the poop in the diaper. Potty training left me a husk of a woman, a shadow of my former self.
Because potty training? Potty training is about as amusing as Carrot Top or Gilbert Godfried or paper cuts while filling the salt shaker. Sure you know its going to be uncomfortable at first but you just can’t anticipate the burning abrasion of it all, where you are on your knees begging, pleading, “please, please for Mommy please pee in the potty”. And your tears are collecting into the plastic sheen of the empty potty bowl, their wetness the only moisture its ever seen. And you’re making deals, you’re offering stock options, you may or may not be openly swearing in front of your child, probably emotionally damaging them in the whole drawn out process.
And the smell of vinegar hangs heavy in the air like a humid, vinegary fog, a humid, vinegary early morning fog that smells like urine. Because you can’t clean pee off the hardwoods with harsh chemicals.
The pee is probably the worst part. Have you ever seen the Shining when that big tidal wave of blood comes gushing down the hall? Potty training is kind of like that, except its pee and there were no creepy ghost twins, that I saw. But its way worse because you’re not in some fancy big budget Stephen King movie. This is your life. Your pee soaked life.
Definately pee is the worst, except for the poop. Especially when its on the lawn because you couldn’t make it to the potty in time. Making for an extremely awkward situation with the neighbors and the need for a rather large shovel.
In fact my whole potty training experience is pretty much a blur. I think I blocked it out for post traumatic stress reasons. Its like I was in Vietnam or MASH (I’m well aware that MASH is the Korean War, I’m being facetious here so no snippy ass comments please, not after all I’ve been through) or something except I’m way more twitchy and prone to night terrors.
All I know is that one day the poop was in the diaper and months later it was in the potty, except when it was on the floor or the lawn. How I did it I’m not sure but it probably wasn’t very amusing.
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Well, frankly, I don’t know about you, but I’m amused. Again, comments are off to force you to go meet Nicole. Now, go to The Mombshelter to be further amused.
