Operation Diaper Defection

A brave (sans diaper) venture to the zoo- amongst similiarly non-house-broken creatures

Never shying from a photo-op, even upon her humble throne

Doing "the monkey" to distract from the task at hand

The toilet has become the bane of my existence. And unabashedly, I must confess that I do harbor some spite for those mothers with non-diapered progeny who failed to ardently convey the mind-numbingly, sanity-reducing undertaking that is demurely referred to as “potty training.” For three weeks, Eowyn and I have rigorously engaged in Operation Diaper Defection with prolific “Princess” tactical maneuverings (i.e. princess stickers, princess potty seats, princess potty books etc…) which have secured significant success- The indispensability of Disney cannot be sufficiently stressed. And yet, though toilet victories are sweet, the failures are devastatingly bitter (and messy). It is in these incontinent moments -when acting as Eowyn’s personal (toiletry) Tony Robbins, custodian and human boday- that I ponder the relevance of my academic accolades which in some ironic reversal of fortune have reduced me to mopping up urine- often. In addition to the travails of house-breaking my toddler, there exists the daunting abyss of public restrooms. My “Monk-like” aversion to these bacterial sanctuaries compels me to tote around a princess potty seat and then to subsequently lumber/run like a large elephant to the nearest putrid privy at the first utterance of “Mommy, I got to go potty.” It’s definitely not sexy. Yet, when we are standing on the battlefield of defeat, amid the mire of another “accident” and I want to cry (again) and Eowyn looks up at me with enormous blue eyes and inquires, “You okay, Lissa?”, I have to think- How could I not be okay when I have my own petite Princess as a permanent prize.