Glamour Training

by admin

Glamour Training

My daughter is twenty-one months old and is a complete girly-girl. She loves playing dress-up, wearing a purse, putting on Mommy’s jewelry, and of course, her favorite: wearing my high heels all around the house. She always picks my best pair of shoes as well. She is really good at walking in my heels, and I am impressed with her ability to move around in them so naturally. I must admit, I am at fault for encouraging the dress-up and the wearing of the heels, but I think great taste starts young, and it doesn’t hurt to play up our girly side. That is, until we began potty training … 

We bought her a cute potty for her to begin using to get comfortable with the idea of it. The potty she picked out has a face on the backrest, which is kind of creepy, but it plays a song when she goes, and I thought it would be pretty exciting to have a dance party when she does go. Hopes were high that this process would be quick and smooth. We would ask multiple times a day, “Do you want to try to go on the potty?” and our daughter would sheepishly respond, “Noooo,” with a smirk. Months passed, and well … we never had a dance party. We gave up on the potty training, I kept hoping she would one day just say, “I want to go on the potty,” but instead the potty sat unused.

Then one glorious day she decided to go, and just like that, a miracle happened, and the music went off! We had a dance party, and I did my best dance moves circa 1990 “the running man,” followed by a large quantity of stickers and many phone calls from relatives to celebrate the big day! I was on cloud nine! Diapers are going to be history soon! I was so happy, but only for a brief moment. Sadly, she went back on strike. It was like she joined a labor union that demanded more stickers before she would use it again. A few weeks passed, she sticker-less but unwavering in her decision to not go on the pott, I was frustrated and lost. What can I do to bribe my child? Something … hmm … a kitchen? A sandbox? Nothing, she was on lockdown. Closed for business. Not happening.

One evening after dinner, she started to do her usual hide in the corner/squat down dance, which immediately prompted my husband and I that an ah-ha moment was happening … she has to go number two! My husband kindly asked her the rhetorical question, “Do you want to go on the potty?” and I knew she would answer “Noooooo” but instead we got a “Yes!” with a smile! You would have thought someone told me there was a million dollars waiting for us in her bathroom by the impressively quick dropping of dishes and swooping up of my daughter action that took place to run her to the potty in time. It was almost American Gladiator worthy, and I pictured it in my head how it would look in slow motion—flawless. I think it was a nanosecond before she was sitting on the potty. Diaper off, check. Everyone Poops book, check. We were cheering her on and encouraging her so much as we listed off everyone’s name she knows who also poops in the potty. That was strangely uncomfortable, as it created unwanted visions, especially when we had been there for a while and named everyone twice … we than began to list people like Dora, Mickey, and Minnie. After ten minutes of nothing and our daughter’s stubbornness—we gave up. As good parents, we reviewed our options like we were in a huddle, strategizing the game-winning play. It was a unanimous decision, and we decided on going diaper-less for a few minutes. That definitely would work, as she would run back to the potty and go when she was ready, because she is so smart and would understand to come back to the potty. Perfect. On blue. Break! Little did I know that our daughter, the quarterback, would drop the ball—literally.

I went to the kitchen to finish the dishes as she and Daddy went to play in our room. After a few minutes, I didn’t hear anything, and then out of nowhere a streak of lighting ran past me screaming “Mommy, mommy poo-poo!” As I turned to grab her, thinking she was ready to go to the potty, I noticed I was too late. There was evidence of the crime all down her leg. I ran her to the potty thinking we were still in time. My husband stunned came into the bathroom insisting that she didn’t go yet because he cannot find the crime scene but only could smell it. Oh great … blind bloodhound. He said she was playing in the closet and dancing around, but there is nothing on the floor. I begin to yell at him and start to rattle off items like an auction that I would give her if she went in the potty. I think my last offer was a Lamborghini, which she easily called my bluff on. As I continue to yell at him that it has to be in there somewhere, he fights back that it is not. I am fuming now as I need a diaper STAT, a hose, and apparently McGruff the Crime Dog to help my husband out.

After I clean her up and realize that my potty dreams are done for the night, if not for a long time as this must have been traumatizing to her, I then go to assist my own personal Sherlock Holmes. Upon entering our closet I find my first clue: my black Mary Jane Steve Madden heels lying on the floor. I didn’t leave them there. I started to take a gasp as I caught a glimpse of what may be a foreign object in my shoe. Uh oh, I found the crime scene. Not only in one shoe, but in the other shoe as well. Case closed. Before we could even speak, we both started laughing as we realized what had happened. Apparently she was not just dancing in the closet earlier.

Did she hate those shoes? Were they so last season? It was obvious she thinks they stink. Well, whatever her reason, I took the hint and tossed my long standing go-to shoes I had for a few years now. Afterwards, we decided to take a break from the potty policing and felt that we should let her be the decision maker on when she is ready. Unless I feel the need to get new shoes before then.

I guess she wanted to be in heels for her first out of diaper experience. Or she was just most comfortable going in a great pair of heels. I get that. Going to the potty isn’t glamorous, but we can at least try to feel pretty in the process.