Game of Thrones: The Prequel

Who is tired of reading about poop? (This a rhetorical question. Don’t answer it.) Who is tired of WRITING about poop? THIS GIRL. Right here. *Points to self*

My youngest child basically potty trained herself.

She’s really smart. 

A few months after she turned two, Sadie refused diapers and Pull-Ups and began demanding ‘Big Guhl Pan-Teez.” I was reluctant because I’m the kind of girl who would rather change a diaper than get on her hands and knees to scrub up a puddle or worse. But I let her have her Big Guhl Pan-Teez and I don’t think she had a single accident. Honestly. I’m not just saying that to be like, “Oh, yeah. It only took us ONE day to potty train. How long did it take y’all?”, while I give your five-year-old in diapers the stink eye. It took over a year with the other two before we could leave the house without an extra set of clothes. We ain’t proud, Sadie was just motivated.

Sadie knows how to potty. But here is our most recent conundrum: Dat guhl wants to potty all the time, potty all the tiii-iiiime. (Heehee, I couldn’t help myself.)

Sadie has taken the potty and turned it against me. Poop is now a power struggle. It’s a means of manipulation, mind tricks and serious procrastination.

She knows that no matter what I am telling her to do, if she yells, “I GOTTA POO-POO!”, the world will come to a screeching halt. I will sit in the bathroom floor for an hour at a time staring at her while she swings her fat little legs on her throne, openly mocking me.

One evening, while Hubs was out of town, she waited until I had her in a Pull-Up and PJs (all bets are off at night) to say, “I gotta go poo-poo.”

I was exhausted. I had been up half the night before with my middle child who had an ear infection and I had juggled my kids in the doctors office all day long. I just wanted to sleep. But if she really had to go, then she really had to go, right?

I groaned and took her to the potty where she completly undressed. Because this is what they do. Children must be completely naked to take a slam.

Then she got bossy. “I meed some pwivate-seat. TERN AWOUND. Don’t wook at me. CLOSE YOU EYES, MOMMA. I MEED PWIVATE-SEAT.”

I refused to leave the room or close my eyes and twenty minutes ticked by. She produced just enough to keep me believing she really had to go.

Recently she had a little touch of The Die-rear and I almost left that baby in the bed because I thought it was more manipulation. Once I realized she was sick, I stayed in the bathroom with her as long as she needed me. While she sat there she pointed her fat little finger at me and said, “YOU did dis. You hut my tummy. Why you do dis to Sadie, huh Momma? You do dis on puhpose!!”

How diabolical does she think I am? For the love! I can’t risk denying her but what am I supposed to do?  If I give her a time limit, how long is long enough? Ten seconds? Five minutes? And isn’t that where serial killers come from? From The Land Of My Mommy Stood Over Me At The Potty And I Had To Poop In 3 Minutes OR ELSE?

I’m at a loss, people of the interwebz.  A total loss.

I need to win back The Throne. Tell me how.