About six months ago I was really ambitious about potty training Abby. We bought some Dora underwear, Grandma even sent up some Elmo pairs. We bought a frog-shaped potty, some stickers and M&Ms. I was convinced it’d take like, what, two weeks? Right?

Not quite: “I no wanna ride the potty train!” Abby screamed the first time I had her sit on the potty. As I lifted her onto the potty, her wiry legs wrapped themselves around my hips, her arms grabbed frantically for my neck and shoulders. Her hips shot skyward, avoiding the horror of the froggy potty. Ah, yes. If I’d have dangled her over a vat of hot acid, maybe she’d have garnered some sympathy from me – but that green kiddie potty is SMILING. Breathe, breathe. I set her down, put the underwear on her and let her go play.

I let her wet herself – upon some advice from the always-smart Internet. Ha. That was an exercise in horror-upon-horrors for the slightly OCD, neat-freak Abby. I think we started this around 7 a.m., and I’m pretty sure we were done by noon, though I’ve tried to push the whole episode out of my memory.

Now, six months later, I’m getting antsy. “Antsy” in this case is really a polite way of saying “grossed out,” because she’s eating real people food, and COME ON. I’m so done with it.

Problem: She’s still not. I tried last weekend to re-start the engine of that potty train. “Abby, diapers are yucky!” I tried.

“Yucky! No mo’ diapers!” she said, waving her pointer finger. Yesss, perfectly, I thought.

“No more diapers! That’s right. Let’s wear your Dora underwear. Look how cute they are!”

“I wear Dora un-wear!”

“Yeah! Let’s just try!”

She picked the pair out of my hands and asked to put it on over her diaper. Uh-uh, not quite the idea I was going for, but I admired her steadfast convictions. “No, Abby. Let’s go sit on the potty. Do you want a sticker?”

“Uh-HUH!”

“Yeah? Then let’s go sit on the potty for two minutes.”

“NO!” The blinds shook behind me. My hair did that cartoon-like blow back at her furor. I swear she was breathing fire. “NO I DON’ WAN’ GO POTTY!” Her foot stomped, her underwear were flung to the floor. “NO! I WEAR DIAPER. I WEAR POLKY DOT DIAPER. NO, NO POTTY!”

I stood up, quietly closed her dresser drawer. “OK, OK, we’ll try it later.”

“No! No later!”

Breathe. Breathe, Erin.

How long can this go on? Really? How long? Is this like quitting smoking? Can you just throw the diapers away and hope for the best?  Grrrr.

I have no idea what I’m doing. Well. I’m changing more diapers – that much is clear. Gaaaaahhh.