I have several friends who are the moms of toddlers and preschoolers. I offer them my sympathy on a regular basis. My youngest child is ten. I loved the years that my kids were small, but I have not forgotten how incredibly hard and overwhelming they were either.
These days I’m thrilled that the only thing stopping me from getting a full eight hours of sleep is my cell phone beeping with a text that one of my teens will be home a bit late. I have no high chairs to sweep around. There are no loaded diaper bags at my front door. And, thank the heavens, it’s been years since anyone had a potty accident on my carpet.
In fact, my sister always says she’ll never buy a house from someone who has potty trained a child or a puppy there. Too much potential for mystery stains to emerge from every room of carpet in the house. We’ve all been there. Pee pee happens.
Since I have successfully (eventually) potty trained four children, my friends with little ones sometimes ask my opinion on the matter. I start with my disclaimer: “This worked for me. It may or may not work for you. Don’t see that as failure on your part, or genius parenting on my part. I just lucked out and found the right thing for our family.”