Potty Training Bootcamp

Remember back in the '90s when talk shows ruled? When topics such as "Are you my baby's daddy?" and "When plastic surgery goes wrong" were on every show? When we thought that Jerry Springer's guests were for real? When Geraldo got fat taken out of his butt and injected into his forehead? Good times, good times.

Talk shows weren't all bad. I learned some important life lessons, such as how to spot a transexual, how big is too big for breast implants, how to determine paternity using DNA testing, and how to reform children's behaviour using bootcamp.

Eric actually had four days off in a row, so we stuck close to home and implemented Potty Training Bootcamp. It's a little different from the juvenile delinquent bootcamps I watched on Maury Povich. Instead of screaming at and freaking out Maya, we sing, dance, and cheer when she goes on the pot. Rather than blowing an obnoxious (but oh so fun!) whistle, we have the oven timer set to go off every 30 minutes. Like Pavlov's dogs, everytime it beeps, Maya shouts "Do you know what time it is? It's potty time!" Come to think of it, she sounds a bit like the Tool Time intro.

So the timer goes off and she goes and sits on the potty.

And she sits.

We read Captain Underpants (we're currently on book 4: Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants). Maya makes silly faces while we read:

When Maya is successful, she gets to choose a sticker:

Every day Maya gets a new paper heart to put her stickers on.

Then Maya gets a popsicle for her good work.

Yes, we are going crazy with the rewards and praise, but the little monkey is playing games with us - doing very well with the toilet at daycare but hardly at all at home. Today we had to make another batch of popsicles:

See? TV isn't the devil. I've learned and applied life lessons from Montel Williams and his cronies.

So while Maya is sitting on the potty next to me, I have time to look up fat injections to reshape my post-breastfeeding body. Thank you, daytime TV!