The Princess and the Potty, unhappily-ever-after ending

Two days before the Maiden turned three, she decided to be Big.  First, she decided to stop throwing fits.  (That lasted two days.  Please do not ask me to elaborate.)

Second, she decided that she was Done With Diapers.  This was particularly musical to my ears, since I’d much rather spend the Maiden’s budget on cute outfits from OshKosh educational books than on something that, well, gets peed on.  I mean, on something that is supposed to get peed on, not peed on accidentally-on-purpose on One Of Those Days in which Maidens do things just to annoy their mothers, like deciding the closet floor is a potty and laughing hysterically when they get mad.


So– the Done With Diapers thing.  The Maiden had already been daytime trained for a good six months before that, but had trouble remembering at night.  We’d planned to let her decide when she was ready, no pressure, as we had for daytime.  However, when we inadvertently ran out of Pull-Ups one evening, I asked the Maiden if she could be a Big Girl now and be all done with Pull-Ups at night.  She responded with enthusiasm– and dryness!

And it continued.  She stayed big-girlishly dry, night after night.  I was so proud of the Maiden’s determination!  I might even have patted myself on the back.

That was a mistake.

One day, four months later, for no apparent reason, the Maiden decided she was done with dry nights.  At first, I thought it was a phase, so I continued as before.  Finally, after a couple weeks of nonstop laundry, I figured that Pull-Ups were cheaper than the electrical costs of drying sheets and comforters every day.  I bit the bullet, and put her back in Pull-Ups, trying to ignore the victorious cheering coming from the laundry room.

Now, more than six weeks have passed, and the Maiden shows no signs of going back to nighttime dryness.  Oh, she has every intention of staying dry, and makes promises to that effect every night.  But every morning, I wake to find a sodden Pull-Up  inches from my face, while an eager voice asks, “Am I dry, Mummy?”

She wants to be dry.  We want her to be dry.  But it isn’t happening.  We’ve tried everything.  Praising.  Scolding.  Making subtle hints about big girls waking up to use the potty.  Making not-so-subtle hints about babies and their use of diapers.  Eliciting promises.  Grinding teeth when said promises turn out for naught.  Ignoring it all and “letting her do it when she’s ready”.  Limiting water intake.  Putting her in diapers.  Putting her in panties. Letting her wear Disney Princess dresses to bed.  Warming sheets in the dryer (that was a mistake).   Reading books about princesses and potties.  Using stickers.   Making charts.  Making collect-stickers-to-redeem-for-various-Disney-merchandise-items-that-Maidens-threw-tantrums-about-in-the-checkout-line-at-Target-last-Sunday charts.

Nothing.  Works.  At.  All.

I have the tiniest suspicion that her subconscious is doing this just to spite my subconscious, and that the more I let it get to me, the longer it’s going to drag out.  My acting skills are a little rusty, but I think I can fake pretending I don’t care. So she’s in Pull-Ups for highschool–who cares! Not me! Actually, come to think of it, that could be a very good bargaining card to have on hand when she asks to push her curfew back.   On second thought, Maiden, go right ahead and be as wet as you like.  Mummy’s got sinister plans brewing.

Now, just watch: she’ll be dry from here on out.

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