Of all parenting duties thus far, my least favorite by far is potty training. You'd think that this fifth time around I'd be ok with it. I knew it was coming. But no. I am more relaxed about it, not getting worked up over accidents. Still can't stand it, though.
Here is an example of why:
Our house is in the middle of our seven acre plot of land, which is surrounded by 200 acres of corn. We can't see our closest neighbor's house. I have a lot of boys, so when they are outside playing, I encourage them to "make water" behind any barn. This includes the two year old.
The other day, we were getting ready to leave for several hours, so I put a Pull-up on the two year old. Once he had his shoes on, he was outside, playing on the porch. I stayed in to get the one year old and all of our stuff ready. From the kitchen, I hear the two year old yelling, "Mommy, I peed!" I assume that he has peed in his Pull-up, since history has shown that he won't pull his pants down on his own. I yell, "It's ok. I'll be right there to help." He continues to yell, but it's starting to sound like he is proud of himself. I look out the front door, and there is his little bare tush. He has a smile on his face, and once again tells me that he has peed. Sure enough, he has peed all over the front porch steps. I of course have to tell him that I am proud of him for taking the initiative. I am mostly proud of him, until I see the rest of the picture. Before he pulled his pants down, he had actually pooped in the Pull-up. There was poo all over his legs, his pants, and his socks.
That's how it goes with potty training. Even when the child does what he's supposed to do, you're up to your elbows in poo.