Because Liam is a path-of-greatest-resistance child, we’ve had to conquer most of his developmental milestones the hard way. Don’t misunderstand. We have always tried the “easy” way first. But, Liam laughed heartily at the normal, approved methods of sleep training, weaning from the breast, weaning from the bottle, and learning to walk, which he begrudgingly did at SEVENTEEN MONTHS of age. Finally, one day he just sighed and rolled his eyes at us, toddled across the floor, and then sat back down to finish the advanced trig problem he’d been working on before we had the nerve to bother him with the whole walking upright crap.

There is no middle ground for Liam. He is either angelic or rotten. Extremely advanced or extremely delayed. Poor kid got a double whammy of this genetic cocktail from both Bill and me. We inevitably fall on either the far left or far right of any given bell curve. Ability to spike a volleyball into an opponent’s face rendering them an unconscious heap on the floor? Jill, far right. Bill, far left. Ability to balance an entire check book in one’s head…in 12 seconds? Bill, far right. Jill, far left. I’m not sure who in his family Bill blames for passing this characteristic along to him, but I blame my Dad for mine. 100%. Mum, you’re totally off the hook for this one. Many times I’ve heard the quote my exasperated Papa Summerville uttered to my then teenage Dad; “Nothing in moderation! Not a GOD!-DAMN! thing in moderation!!” And so it goes two generations later…

For the last year, we have been trying to achieve the mother of all milestones with Liam. Potty training. Yes, I know it’s harder to train boys. Yes, I know they’ll go when they’re ready. Yes, I’ve been in enough chat rooms and on enough message boards to know that some parents who didn’t have a hard time potty training will use it as a platform to feel superior to those of us who are elbow deep in poopy SIZE 7 Pampers Cruisers. (41+ lbs., folks!! If not for those, he’d be sporting Depends.)

About a year ago, Liam gave us the smallest glimmer of hope that we would not have to travel the path lined with shattered beer bottles to get him potty trained. He put pee-pee in the potty for the first time! Bill and I did a wildly unattractive celebratory dance that culminated with me dumping the potty over Bill’s unsuspecting noggin like the head coach of the winning football team getting a Gatorade shower. Positive reinforcement and all that rot. Liam could not have been more horrified that we were happy and praising him. “NO MUM-MUM SAY, ‘GOOD JOB!’ AHHHHHHHHHHHHHARRRRRRRRAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NO DAH-DAH SAY IT!!!”

From that moment on, he would have nothing to do with the potty. For a year we tried all of the normal potty training tactics and got nowhere. So, this morning, we went cold turkey. No more diapers, period. Liam will strut around naked from the waist down until he’s successfully using the potty and we’ll use pull-ups for naps and at night. I very calmly explained to Liam that we were saying ‘bye-bye’ to his diapers, that he was a big boy and it was time to start using the potty. He wasn’t on board with that idea and whimpered pitifully, trying desperately to convince me to let him keep his soggy, overnight diaper on. I gently told him ‘no’ and then pried off the last diaper that our eldest son will ever wear and put it in the diaper pail.

Thus begins Day 1 of Potty Training Boot Camp. Buckle-up, buttercup. This is going to be a horror show and I’m going to share it all with you.