The Potty Dance

I'm sitting on the bathroom floor. With my computer. I am doing this because I've already been here a while, and I was getting bored. Answering questions....unlimited questions. "Do you go on the potty?" Yes. "Do you like stickers?" Yes. "Can I wash my hands?" After you go potty. "Can Isaac potty in here?" Not while you're on the toilet. "Do you like Elmo?" Sure. "Does Elmo go potty?" Probably. Yes. "Where's his potty?" (baffled) I don't know. On Sesame Street. "Sesame Street?" Uh-huh. "Where's that? Is it in my home?" On T.V. Go potty. I'm gonna go get my computer.
I've done a lot of research, had a few conversations with the pediatrician, and many conversations with other moms; all to arrive at the same conclusion. I have no conclusion. My son isn't potty trained. He is apparently just taking his time. It's not that Gabe hasn't gone on the toilet. In fact, he's gone numerous times. He just seems to not really care whether he goes on the toilet or in a diaper. It's sort of like, "could you go for tuna salad or egg salad?" Eh, either one, both sound good. That's how Gabe handles potty training. "Diaper or toilet?" Eh, whichever. I'm not picky.
I've tried some tools. My mother bought a "Potty Training Chart" that features Elmo and friends, and you put a sticker on the day when an "achievement" is earned. He really wants the stickers, but evidently not badly enough. So he ogles them while he sits on his (also Elmo and friends) potty seat. He tells me which one he's going to have, when he does go. So I figure he's looking toward a positive future?
I've tried the motivational "potty-chants." I've created my own: "We're gonna go on the pott-ay" (rhythmically, and with some pretty enthusiastic hand-jive motion). I've even danced my way into the bathroom with him, showing my obvious excitement for him to make in the toilet, and not in his pants.

This was not the case with Isaac. I'm pretty sure he was peeling back the diaper at about a year old, heading for the toilet in pursuit of potty-freedom. Well, maybe not quite a year. But really, I didn't have any "training" involved with him. He just did it. Gabe is obviously a different story.
Changing a baby is one thing. They can lay on a changing table, coo and giggle and be cute. Even their diapers don't seem as gross. To me, anyhow. A 2 and a half year old is a different story. A 2 and a half year old's diaper is vile. And the fact that he will ask questions while I change it; that makes it worse. My sister dies every time I have Gabe bring me a clean Pull-Up and some wipes, and then he whips his pants down, slaps his hands onto the floor and points his bare bottom skyward for me to wipe him down. It's gross. Humorous, maybe. But gross. You'd think at this point, he'd know it's just...time. It's time to be over this charade of "You should have told Mommy....go get me a clean Pull-Up."
Should be, would be, could be. But for now, my bottom is planted on the cold and hard bathroom floor in the room that also doubles as my laundry room. My head is rested against the door, my knees folded against the vanity. I notice things from this angle. I need to wipe down the baseboards. There are dust bunnies under the washer. Perhaps I could make a day of this and fold the load in the dryer. Or perhaps he could just go and we could get the heck outta here.