Potty Training

Okay, I had heard that potty training boys was hard, but nobody ever told me how hard. I honestly can't even tell you how many failed attempts we have had at potty training Quinten. It seems like every time something big happens in our lives, he responds by completly reverting back to the diaper. Our first attempt was when he turned 2. He did so good, but then Josh and I went to Hawaii, and as soon as we got back, he decided to punish us for leaving him by no longer using the toilet. After that, it's been interesting. One of my most interesting mommy moments came when I was first pregnant with Gavin. I was really worn out and was laying down on the couch. I had given Quinten some chocolate to tide him over while I tried to get some much needed down time. Well Quinten at the time had this obsession with not wanting his hands to be dirty. So as I'm laying on the couch, Quinten comes over and is just whining to me and holding his chocolate covered hands up to me. Well being pregnant and all, I was too lazy to get up and wash them in the sink, so I just did the thing that most mothers do at some point in their lives - I licked it off. It was then that I realized that I must have given him dark chocolate, because what I was licking off wasn't sweet. Only after I had dutifully licked off all the dark chocolate, did Quinten turn around and I saw the brown handprint smear running from the back of his diaper to the middle of his thigh. It was then that I realized that what I though was dark chocolate was in fact, yes, poop. Of course being pregnant and all, the gag reflex kicks in and I'm thinking to myself that this might just be the first time during both of my pregnancies that I might actually throw up. Fortunately, I held it down and changed what was left of the poopy diaper. So I figured that this was my one bad potty training experience and it would be smooth sailing from here on out, but no. Bad experience number two occured just a few weeks ago. I was nursing Gavin when I heard Quinten go into the other room and rip off his diaper. I was hoping that he was just going to hop on the potty and all would be well, but no. Pretty soon he comes walking in with a gigantic pile of mushed poo in his hand and says "Mommy, I pooped". I'm not sure exactly what to do at that point because he's looking at me with these eyes like I should be so proud of him for bringing it to me, but I'm not so sure I want to accept his thoughful gift. I then think about what he'll do with it if I don't accept it and visions of finger painting on the windows and cupboards with brown feces motivates me to just smile and let it move from his hand to mine. So I'm sitting on my couch with Gavin nursing in one arm and a pile of poo in the other and I'm trying to remember if any of those parenting magazines I read while waiting in the doctor's office had any advice for this situation. I figure that I'm on my own with this one, so I set the poor nursing kid down and tell him I'll be back momentarily. So I clean up the mess, get Quinten changed and go back to Gavin to explain why being the number two baby stinks sometimes. So as you can tell, my potty training experiences are getting the best of me. I'm holding onto that advice that everyone with a boy keeps telling me - don't expect too much from them before they are three and that there aren't any 10 year olds still wearing around Costco diapers.