Bo and Revi celebrated their half birthday on the 13th, which we assumed would come with the MOST ANTICIPATED (and exciting) milestone in all of parenthood: the ditching of the diaps. They are three and a half.
Archer and Fable were fully potty trained by now, so we figured ...
WRONG. We figured wrong.
All kids are different, you guys. Who knew? In all seriousness, though, we have had such different experiences with all of our kids, which is why I am so nonchalant about most of this stuff.
It's funny because Bo and Revi were the earliest of the four to pee in the potty so we figured, hey, they've got this. We'll be diaperless in no time! I even wrote about it last summer!
And then, during Christmas break, Bo did her first potty poop in a gas station bathroom and we thought, THIS IS IT.
"Bo. DUDE. Why do you only poop in gas station bathrooms?" I asked her, nearly in tears, strapping a diaper to her.
"Because. I like them, Mom."
"BUT ... BUT ..."
"You said 'butt,' Mom. YOU SAID 'BUTT'! HA HA."
I give up, you guys. We have tried everything: Bribery. High-fiving each other every time we poop. Reading every single poop book on the market, shopping for cool underwear at Target, making up songs. Even drawing pictures of poop dancing out of human butts and into the toilet didn't work.
Making up songs. About poop. Dancing out of human butts. (That didn't work either.) I have been promised, "Next time, Mama" 78,798 times.
Then, they get the urge and start to panic. And then I panic because I don't want them to hold it all in and have issues, so I run to get the diapers and strap them on under their dresses. (Bo and Revi do EVERYTHING differently, EXCEPT they always, always poop at the same time. ALWAYS. They did this as infants and they do it still. It's kind of amazing. They actually call themselves "The Poop Friends," which is a fantastic band name. Really nailing it with that one.)
Bo and Revi, on the other hand, were early with absolutely everything. Except pooping on a potty.
It's time for them because they're, well, OLD. And it's time for me because I'm old, too. I may be 33 in human years but in parenting years, I'm 100.
For ten years I have wiped butts and I am very much ready to retire. But we have a very different beast with the twins than we had with Archer and Fable. We have two children who are the exact same age and multiply their willpower against each other and then BAM.
But it isn't time for them. At least that is what they tell me EVERY. TIME. I ask them, daily. Twice daily. Sometimes three times daily.
"We're not ready yet, Mom. Right, Revi?"
"But soon, Mama. Soon we'll be ready, okay?"
"Right now we need our diapers so we can go behind the door and be poop friends."
Like the sucker that I am, I fetch them their diapers and watch them scurry off to hide behind my bedroom door, which, for the last several months, has been their "bathroom."
I shake my head at myself. I shake my head at them. And I shake my head at human bodies and how disgusting they are. Miraculous, sure, but also disgusting.