Priorities and Pull-Ups

I hate pull-ups.

I really do. They did absolutely NOTHING for my three girls when I was trying to potty train them.

Wow! Fancy diapers!! Now I can wet my diaper like a BIG girl!

You can imagine that this attitude tended to be slightly irritating to me. More expensive, less to a box, and my girls all treated them as a diaper upgrade instead of training pants.

Forget that. And so, when it came time (b/c I really do put it off until my kids are practically begging) to potty train, we went straight to the real thing.

You cannot even begin to imagine how many little girl panties we have around here. (And by the way, I really hate using that word on my blog, but it just loses impact if I use 'underwear', doesn't it?) Panties themed by days of the week, Hello Kitty, Strawberry Shortcake, Dora, Princesses, the Wiggles (which a friend pointed out to me is totally weird and creepy...a picture of five men on little girl panties? That's just wrong.), panties with flowers, polka dots, lollipops, etc.

I have been on so many special big girl trips to choose their favorite first panties that I could write the book on it.

And I have almost made it. The Promised Land is nearly in sight to my weary budget.

So close, and yet so far away.

You see, my problem is with THIS little darling:

She seems to have a certain fondness for changing into new panties multiple times a day. She knows I won't just let her change 10 times for the fun of it, so what does she do? Makes it imperative that she put on a fresh pair. Multiple times a day. Every day. (and before you suggest that I just let her have a free for all and change to her heart's content, trust me...I've tried that, too.)

The other day I asked her WHEN she was ever gonna stop wetting her pants. Her answer?

"When I'm a big sister."

I proceeded to hand her a value pack of panties and a few diapers to keep on hand 'cause that ain't happening', sister.

Now of course at night things are different. I can hardly fault a child for not having bladder control while unconscious, now can I? My solution is to just continue to invest in the bargain priced Costco diapers for as long as necessary at night. No big deal.

But wait! In the world of my 3-yr-old, this is a VERY big deal. A travesty, in fact. A heinous war crime beyond description.

She looked at me two nights ago with shock and dismay written all over her face. Her little brows furrowed and her hands crossed over her chest in slow motion. She planted her feet shoulder width apart, glared at me from across the room, and communicated non-verbally that I was now the scum of the earth (she gave me the 3-yr-old equivalent of the finger...sticking her tongue out at me).

"DIAPERS?!" she raged. "DIAPERS?! ARE YOU TALKING TO ME? MAKE. MY. DAY."

I meekly and submissively appealed to the volatile dictator before me.

"It pains me to no end to have to present you with these, these contemptible forms of waste containment, these diapers. But my lord, I beg you, have mercy, for my storerooms are empty and Costco is closed. I would be forever in your debt if you could so humble yourself and don this horrid diaper for a mere evening. Please, my liege, grant your humble servant pardon for this grave oversight. It shan't happen again if you but spare my life."

It wasn't pretty, the battle that ensued. I will not go into details, but I will tell you that it eventually involved duct tape. A lot of it. And later that night when I went to make sure she was okay before I went to bed, she had STILL somehow managed to rip it off and was sleeping with a smile on her face. I will never forget the panic, the pure fear, the nausea that welled up in my whole being as I looked into the pull-ups basket and found it dismally empty that night.

It won't happen again, I can tell you that. Yes, they're about $10 more than the stupid diapers, but at some point I have to put a number value on Mama's nerves. A fight over pull-ups vs. diapers? No thank you. This humble servant will gladly concede that battle for the greater good: world peace in my home.