Potty Training: A Survival Guide for the Brave and the Slightly Delusional

Tiny Underwear, Big Battles: Let’s Do This

Ah, potty training. The great equalizer of parents.

Last weekend, I was forced into potty training Atlas—not by choice, but by his Montessori, who decided it was time. I, however, was still holding out hope that one day he’d just get it on his own. You know, like a light switch flipping on. A magical “aha” moment where he’d declare, “Mother, I am ready for the porcelain throne.”

Yeah. That moment never came.

I never saw the signs, never caught the hints, and if I’m being honest, I probably ignored them. Now, at three years old—probably too late in potty training world—he’s been in diapers for way too long, and I am petrified for my vintage furniture. I also do not have the mental space or bandwidth to be cleaning up surprise puddles all day, but apparently, I don’t have a choice anymore.

And honestly? WHY is there not a luxury potty training service? We outsource everything else—sleep training, meal prep, eyebrow maintenance, dog grooming. Why can’t someone just pick up my toddler, potty train him in some secret off-site facility, and return him fully housebroken? I would pay big bucks for this. Just imagine: a black car pulls up, a team of highly trained professionals whisks your child away, and three days later they come back in tiny underwear, fully trained, holding a diploma and maybe a little tote bag. WHY DOES THIS NOT EXIST?!

Anyway. Because that isn’t an option (capitalism, you have failed me), I did what any rational, overworked mom would do: I harassed every mom chat I’m in, demanding answers, survival strategies, and a possible escape plan. And while no one offered to take over for me (rude), they did pass along some solid tips that have sort of helped.

So, because misery loves company, I’m sharing them here in hopes that your journey is smoother than mine. (And if not, at least we can scream into the void together.) 🚽✨