Adventures in Potty Training Boot Camp

I know I said I'd tell diabetes stories all this month, but I lied. Children tend to change our plans. So I'm blogging about potty training Grant. We started a 3 Day Potty Training Boot Camp yesterday. I've had several friends do it with complete success. The lady who wrote the book encourages you to do the boot camp at 22 months...she says it's the optimal age. Any earlier and they may not be physically or mentally ready. Any later...particularly after 2 1/2 years old, and old habits die REALLY hard. So, we tossed the diapers, put on the big boy pants, loaded up with treats and prizes, and are giving it a shot. He HATES wet underwear. I mean, the second he starts to go, he jumps up, runs to me and we haul it to the bathroom. Occasionally, he finishes in the Big Boy Potty. Usually, he doesn't, we put on clean underwear, and he goes in his pants again...which repeats the above cycle...approximately 2 minutes later. However, in 28 hours, our successes do include: peeing outside 3 times, peeing in the potty 5 times (1 was ACTUALLY PROMPTED BY GRANT HIMSELF!), one marble-sized poop in the toilet, waking up dry from his nap yesterday, only 1 overnight accident at 11:30p and waking up dry at 7a...and we'll see about naptime today. He's sleeping...which is why I can blog for a second. I'm going to say the good overshadows the 35+ pairs of underwear we've gone through since started yesterday morning. The book says that most kids take until the end of the 3rd day to actually put everything together, realize that going to the potty is good, recognize when they have to go, and tell you in their own way. Once that happens, they get it. It's all about praise, recognition, rewarding...you never scold when the have an accident. You just encourage when they do ANYTHING at all. Keeping the fingers crossed that we're doing the happy dance by Sunday morning. (And you can think about Ben. He's got the potty duty tomorrow since I have to work.) I'm really proud of my little guy. Poor kid though. Part of this simply boils down to a battle of the wills. I know he's ready to be potty trained. He can stop a stream when he starts in his pants and then continue it on the potty. One of the biggest issues at hand is that his world is changing. No more wetting pants while playing because it's easy. No more laying down to be changed. Growing up is tough. Last night, after his accident and once he was changed and in clean clothes and sheets, he kept screaming "OFF!" and tugging at his underwear. They are changing his little world. He went down for a nap an hour early today...just because I think he's emotionally and physically exhausted. I'm going to finish blogging and pray for my little guy. Even potty training isn't too small of a prayer request. Jesus gets it. I think I'll pray for my sanity, too. Both Grant and Jesus know I need it.

Wardrobe Malfunction

On May 26th of this month, I will be celebrating my 20th anniversary of living with Type I Diabetes. I see it only fitting to share some of my stories with you of living with diabetes. This one happens to be quite entertaining and embarrassing.

In between my sophomore and junior year of college, I got my first insulin pump. What is it, you ask? It's an ingenious $4,000 piece of equipment that holds insulin and sends it into my body through a tube via a port that I insert every 3 days. Kind of like an IV, only not into a vein. Super cool. Looks like I'm sporting a 1990's pager on my back pocket. Come on people, give me more credit than that. I have an iphone, ok?

When I first got my pump, I was a little insecure about wearing it. I didn't want to have to explain what is was to the entire world. (Now, I LOVE talking about it!) So, the nice little lady who came to our house to get me set up on the pump told me that some women wore their pump inside of their bra. Sounds like a great idea. Except for the fact that I wasn't sure where I was going to hide it. You see, large bosommed I am not. Except when I'm breastfeeding...which I was not as a junior in college.

However, it seemed like it was worth a shot, so I headed out to the local Victoria's Secret where I knew I could find some thickly padded braziers to attempt to hide my new addition in. I found a bra...one cup size too big...that I could hide the pump under one of the girls in. She must of looked lop-sided, you say? Yes, I did. So to solve that problem, I bought half-cup gel inserts to put into the other side of the bra to even things out a bit.

Talk about some quick enhancement. Not even too lumpy looking. I was impressed with my find.

So I headed back to college at Texas Tech a few weeks early to start gearing up for Recruitment Week (aka Rush in the non-politically correct world). One of my favorite times of the year. I am a Chi Omega and was looking to pick us up some new Baby Hooters (no pun intended). The week of Rush includes skits, presentations, lots of talking, singing...but we're going to focus on one of our skits where the "Wardrobe Malfunction" occurred.

You see, I love the stage. Where I'm a SINGER, and not too shabby of an actress, but not a top-of-the-line dancer. But, in this particular skit, I am dancing front and center-stage. As we start our routine, I am confident since we've practiced it 5,000 times. I know the words (because it's sort of a song-and-dance routine). I know the steps. Not too complicated. I look cute. All is good. So I start. And remember, I have my fantastic little pump stuffed inside of my bra as to not make it obvious.

We're sort of jogging in place at the start of the dance. Energetic and cute-like. Like little school girls, which is how we were dressed. As I ever-so-cutely bounce, I feel some slippage out of one of my bra cups. Oh no, the pump! you think. No. It's the gel boob I have on the OTHER side of the bra to even the girls out that is making it's way down my shirt into the outer world. In front of 90 girls I do not know.

Quick-thinking, I grab the gel boob from under the front of my shirt, pull it out in lightening speed, and hide it behind my back. I continue to dance, for an actress never breaks up a performance. I glance around, catching the eyes of some of my fellow Chi Omegas...who show looks of concern thinking something is wrong with my insulin pump. I glance at the Rush-ees, who are oblivious to what is taking place in front of them. Until...

I decide to take a risk and toss the gel boob behind the wooden train that is our stage background for the Chi Omega Choo-Choo skit. I couldn't possibly keep it in my hand while I continued to dance. So, with all of my strength, I toss the gel boob into the air, over my right shoulder in hopes of tossing it behind the stage prop. Utter failure. In reality, what happens is that you hear a loud bang as my gel boob hits the front of the train, sticks, and slowly slides down to the ground. Mortified, I hear chuckling coming from a few in the crowd but choose to avoid eye contact with anyone. And what makes matters worse is that no one (except my Chi Os) knew that I had the insert in to even out the girls since I had a medical device in the other side of my bra. I'm sure I just looked like a flat-chested college girl who was trying to stuff her bra.

We got some laughs out of that one at the end of the day. For all I know, I could have been deemed "Boob Girl" on Greek Circle for the rest of my college career. No, I take that back...there were lots of other girls who rightfully earned that title at Texas Tech ahead of me.

So, the moral of the story? Don't stuff your bra. And don't be afraid of wearing your insulin pump for the world to see. It is part of who I am...and I'm proud of it.