GUIZERIX: The realities of parenting and potty-training a princess
Published 4:00 am Wednesday, September 20, 2023
As the parent of a 3-year-old, I’ve had to say some things I never thought I’d have to say.
From the reassurance of, “No, scary camels will not come to eat you,” to pleas for her to eat her vegetables because “Bluey likes carrots,” it sometimes feels as though my husband and I operate in an alternate reality — or at least another plane of reason.
Lately, as our daughter’s imagination has grown and we’ve conquered big milestones, I can confidently say, I’ve potty-trained Queen Elsa.
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Now, you might think the Ice Queen of Arundel, the star of Disney’s “Frozen,” would be well-versed in the methods of using the royal chamber pot. But I’m here to tell you it was a battle to get there.
I’m also here to tell you that Princess Belle, Cinderella and Ariel are no better. Every 30 minutes for the last few months, I’ve said, “Elsa, make sure you go to the potty,” or “Cinderella, do you have to go tee-tee?” until I’m blue in the face.
And Lord, these princesses are picky. Ariel only likes blue undies, while Cinderella does not like to use the big-girl potty and only prefers a toddler potty.
Elsa and Belle will only use the potty if you sing to them — and did I mention that their personas can change mid-sentence?
It isn’t easy being 3 years old, learning to be more independent than ever before and experiencing more emotions than you have the words to express. And as a parent, it’s difficult at times to not become frustrated, especially when Cinderella simply cannot finish her grilled cheese until unsightly crusts are removed from her presence.
I suppose my daughter gets frustrated with me, as well, since I’m always cast as Flounder or Sven or the Wicked Stepmother. Truth be told, I think at times she relishes the opportunity to make fun of me.
At least, the number of times Ariel tells me “Don’t be such a guppy,” would indicate that.
Toddler parenting is not for the faint of heart or the dull in spirit, that’s for sure. All jokes aside, I’m proud of whoever she pretends to be.
And who knows — now that Elsa can use the potty, maybe I can convince Cinderella to try broccoli at family dinner.