Potty Training is Going to Kill Me

I swear that potty training my 2-year-old is going to kill me. It's not the way I pictured I would go, but the Pearly Gates seem like a pretty welcome sight in my 46th minute of sitting on the side of the bathtub waiting for the tiniest drop to hit the water so we can have the biggest, baddest celebration the world has ever known. But no. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. Heck, probably not next month.

Her wonderful preschool teachers swear that she only goes in the potty at school, but she has never once gone in ours over the last 6 months of running to the potty every time she wants.

Don't you dare ask her if she wants to go unless you are prepared for an eardrum rumbling series of toddler expletives - I can't understand her, so who knows what she's really saying. I probably don't want to know.

This is the child that woke up dry the other morning. I just knew this was my chance, but twenty minutes of sitting on a stool, straddling the front of the potty while hugging this tiny emotional powder keg and I've got nothin. Zip. Nada.

The other day she peed on the carport and quickly told her daddy with way to much optimism, "I not pee in your house!" See, that seems to be our motto these days - Don't pee in my house! Well, evidently she doesn't consider her booster seat, the living room floor, the bathroom floor, her brother's room, the kitchen floor, her bedroom floor or even my bed to be part of my house because she's peed in all of them.

I started this all extremely optimistic. I just knew that she would pick it right up and we would all live in bliss not having to buy diapers anymore. Right now all I know is that potty training is going to kill me, and I'm just about ready for it.