You had to be wondering when you’d hear a post about potty training.

After all, our boy is off to college now.

C’mon, people.

He’s not even three yet.

Plus he’s undergone immense change.

Plus it’s important not to prematurely force bladder control.

Plus he’s a boy.

Plus he’s undergone immense change.

Plus his mom has undergone immense change.

Plus.

and plus.

I had all the excuses.

All of them.

The poor boy has been ready to potty train for some time.

He only asks me about genitals every day:

I have peemis?

The Grinch has ‘gina?

You win, Freud.

I was absolutely dreading the potty training process.

I’m not a bodily fluids person.

Bless doctors, nurses, and all medical providers.

But this is why the only briefs I handle are legal.

Har. Har.

Now, some potty training sources encourage you to set aside three days and plan to be at home, with nothing scheduled, intently watching your child every minute.

I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

Yet there I was, heaving my toddler onto the pot, every 15 minutes, with an infant hanging from my teat.

Lord, be with us.

I probably would have delayed this process even longer had I not had a newborn. But the sight of a two-year-old’s bowel movement juxtaposed with a newborn’s bowel movement is unsettling.

Fortunately, the potty aspect went mostly swimmingly.

While we had a poop protest for a day or two, Andy eventually relented.

We’ve only had a handful of stray nuggets since.

Although, one instance happened while Andy was at “school” and got carried away dancing.

Andy unfortunately pooped himself, wouldn’t ‘fess up, and continued dancing.

His teachers had to investigate each child to determine the culprit.

Poor Andy.

Just as awkward as his ma.

These things happen, sweet child.

But praise be to God, I’m now on the other side of this.

We are presently weeks deep into our big boy undies.

And I can confidently report that Andy won’t be toting Pampers to college.

Hear, hear!