We decided some time ago that we would not potty train the little miss. Like, ever. We quite simply did not want to fail as epically as we had with the little man. A year and a half of absolute hell had scarred us to the point of letting her wear diapers forever rather than start the nightmare all over again.

Even at fourteen months when she started using the toilet on a semi-regular basis, we resisted. I didn’t even write about it here because if I ignored it then it wasn’t real. It was too early, we didn’t want to push it. She was pooping on the potty long before the little man, but we were too mired in the dark, bribery-riddled place of Legos for poops to actually admit it. The closest we came was moving her from diapers to Pull-Ups, to make her frequent potty trips more convenient.

She wouldn’t even use the potty, preferring the actual toilet for her business. And despite our only taking her when she announced it, she was still averaging about a 75% success rate. People would ask if we were training her and we would either avoid the question or flatly say “No.” We would just take her when she said she had to go. But potty training? Never.

Last week her preschool teacher asked if we wanted to start, as apparently any time they asked the kids who were potty training if they had to go she would squeal with glee and do anything she could to join them. Our little girl was basically begging for it, wanting desperately to be part of that toilet-using elite.

The time had come and we couldn’t ignore it anymore. We agreed that we would start potty training the following Monday, but on Friday morning our little lady announced that she wanted to wear panties. So there you go.

Now the little man actually mastered peeing LONG before the other business got sorted out, so I had kind of forgotten those messy first few days. Four sets of wet pants later and I decided to brave a trip to Walmart. Crazy? You bet. But it was fine. We even bought her a few sets of Hello Kitty underpants to sweeten the pot, but I was confident in the power of the Dora the Explorer pair she was wearing. I mean, how could you pee on Dora?

It was only on a stop at the library on our way home that my cockiness caught up with me. Now, I’m not a complete idiot. I did have a change of her clothes with me. But being out of practice with the wet pants scenario, I did neglect to pack an extra pair of socks. Or a plastic bag to put the wet clothes in. Rookie move. Serious rookie move.

That was last week. And we’re pretty much done. A few accidents here and there, but basically done. Thank you God, Hello Kitty or whatever power you choose to pray to. And you can hate me all you want, but I invite you to read ANY of my previous posts to know that this is truly some sort of divine intervention and someone up there is paying us back for the trauma we endured for almost two years.

We’re still in diapers for bedtime, whereas the little man stayed dry through the night from early on. It really does go to show you that every kid is different and you just never know. I can’t even bear to think how many trouser bombs we could have avoided if we had let the little man do things in his own time. We were first-time parents and eager to get started, and well…you know how that turned out. Maybe not even in his own time, as he could very well be in diapers til this day, but just a little longer.

Hindsight is 20/20. And I can “what if” and “if only” with the best of them, but for now I will just be happy to be done with potty training, once and for all.

Now if we could just find the magic answer for the little man’s sleep issues.

It’s always something.