Potty Train not 1880 Train

When I hear the word train I think of a ride I once took on the 1880 Train through the Black Hills in South Dakota. The smell of pine trees, the rolling hills and the crisp mountain air will always take me instantly back home with a feeling of peace and serenity. I think back to the life and times of South Dakota in 1880. It was bustling with the recent gold rush and influx of prospectors and families. Mothers then were also trying to potty train toddlers. Can you imagine what that was like with outhouses? I am shuddering at the thought mostly because outhouses make me gag. There is probably a support group and a name like portapottyobia. I'll google it later...

I am now the conductor of an entirely different kind of train, "The Potty Train." One that has invoked tears through both exhaustive efforts and smells. One that for weeks on end seems to go nowhere at all. One that is the opposite of peace and serenity, which if you are wondering is conflict and chaos. When my husband and I were frequently asked during the first 6 years of our marriage "When are you going to start a family" I always said, "When they come out potty trained." I knew all along that this was going to be the hardest part for me. Changing diapers really doesn't bother me much but the whole potty seat, wet toilet paper, getting poop out of underwear thing really gets to me.

If I won the lottery, I would totally hire a "potty trainer" to come and get it done for me, and if wishes came true. I would have both kids done by the end of this summer. That is probably asking for to much since the youngest is just starting to wean from breastfeeding. And the fact that my hormones are all out of whack because of the weaning, may be making this training thing extra difficult.

So, I will stop complaining for now because I have just been informed, "Mom, I'm a little bit poopy."