He is three. He just turned three. He has been three for a couple of months and I want to speak directly to every parent who told me “just wait until two”, you were thinking too small. Two was a warm-up. Three is the main event.

Enter: Mr. Independent

Ash has decided, a little before his third birthday, that he does not need us. Not for putting on his shoes. Not for eating food. Not for opening the string cheese he physically cannot open. He will try to open the damn packaging for roughly about 5 minutes before he accepts help, and when he does accept it, he will act like you suggested something offensive.

“I gotta do it, Mommy.”

Sir. Your fine motor skills are not entirely developed yet. I respect the vision, though.

I am simultaneously proud of his independence and deeply, spiritually exhausted by it. I read somewhere before (I think it was last year) that kids slow us down, we need to learn how to slow down so that there won’t be a lot of tantrums. Okay, that was actually very true because I spend an extra ten seconds waiting for him by the door every morning while he has to grab his toys to bring with him for the car ride to daycare. Some days it’s Bluey and Bingo, other days it’s his precious Lightning McQueen and Tow Mater cars.

We are in a constant negotiation. He pushes every boundary. I hold every boundary. We are both very committed to our positions. Nobody is winning.

Potty Training: A Horror Story in Several Acts

I need you to understand something about me before I continue: I am a clean freak. Not “I like things tidy” clean freak. I mean I have been changing Ash’s diapers for three years wearing cheap disposable Amazon gloves because bare hands near a diaper is simply not something I am able to do. This is not up for debate. This is just who I am.

So you can imagine how I felt about potty training. I have been anxious about this day for years. Literal years. I knew it was coming. I tried to prepare. I read things. I made a whole plan. I DID NUMEROUS PEP TALKS WITH MY HUSBAND, ANTHONY.

Ash did not get the memo.

We are currently deep in poop withholding territory, which, if you don’t know what that is, congratulations! I didn’t either until recently and I wish I still didn’t. It’s exactly what it sounds like. He simply has decided not to. He is three and he is ALREADY asserting bodily autonomy and I don’t know whether to call his pediatrician, or maybe an Etsy witch.

Every afternoon we pick him up from daycare and every afternoon there is a bag, or two, or four. A little white bag of shame. Pee-soaked clothes. Sometimes worse. We smile at the daycare teachers. I take the bag. I walk to the car. I question all of my decisions.

I have had multiple breakdowns about this. I prefer the word “meltdowns” because frankly it feels more accurate and also Ash has meltdowns so it’s a family thing now.

 

The Night He Won

I’m not going to tell you exactly what he did that night because honestly it’s a blur of toddler defiance and my own big feelings, but I will tell you that it was a Tuesday, it had already been a day, and he was just extra. Extra committed to doing the exact opposite of whatever I asked.

And I cried.

Not a single tear. I mean full on ugly-snot-on-my face cry.

And here is what Ash did when he saw his mommy crying: he looked at Anthony very seriously, said “Mommy sad?” Anthony then said, “Yeah, bud. Mommy is sad because you didn’t listen to her.” Then he proceeded to run to me, hug me and say “I’m sorry, mommy.” 

Empathy: present. He’s gonna be a good man someday.

 

What I’ve Learned (Nothing. I’ve Learned Nothing)

I’m supposed to wrap this up with some hard-won wisdom about the threenager phase. Something reassuring, right? Maybe a tip or two.

Here’s what I’ve got: it is okay to cry. It is okay to be outwitted by a person who still needs help with string cheese. It is okay to be a clean freak who is currently living in a season of Other People’s Bodily Functions, and it is okay if that season is taking years off your life.

The potty training will eventually work. I have been told this by multiple trusted sources (hey Tampa titas!) and I am choosing to believe them because the alternative is not something I’m available for.

In the meantime: Amazon still sells those disposable gloves in bulk. I also bought Poofetti and Wizzy Fizzies that are dissolvable stars he can throw in the toilet after he does 1 or 2 to make it more “fun” because hey, fun mom. 

If you are also in the trenches of potty training a tiny dictator who has decided to use their bodily functions as a power play, solidarity here. We don’t have any answers here but the commiseration is free.