In which I explain that I did not use the Princess Potty

We have a two-year-old is currently undergoing the world’s most laid-back potty training in the world. It’s a method that worked on the older two, and it seems to be working on her. Essentially, we provide a small potty, and if she uses it, fine. If not, we continue to change her diaper. No incentives, just options. Slowly, she’s introduced to underwear, which she completely soaks with urine, but is slowly preferring to her diapers. Eventually, she’ll wear only pull-ups to sleep in, then WOO-HOO, only one more to potty-train.

We bought the potty some time ago. For this kid, we went all out and bought “The Princess Potty:” a little throne-shaped potty that has two sensors on the bottom of the bowl. When the sensors are touched, an adorable little fan-fare is played, and it changes each time. It’s adorable until you realize that it’s a turd or a cup of pee that is spanning the sensors and triggering the fan-fare.

I think we got this potty from Sears, and had given our two-year-old the choice between the princess potty, and a frog potty. (My wife was pulling for the frog potty because it would’ve matched the bathroom’s décor, but she was willing to honor our daughter’s choice.) Our daughter chose the princess potty, and ever since it’s been installed in our front bathroom next to the toilet.

As I mentioned before, we’ve had this potty for some time, and Lord knows how long it sat on the shelf before we bought it. It works fine except for. . . sometimes. Sometimes, the fanfare plays when no one is in the room. In the middle of the night, we’ll hear the electronic fanfare. Walking by will sometimes set it off, and sometimes . . . well, you’ll see.

I use that bathroom on occasion. We have a bathroom in our bedroom, but this one’s closer to the living room and my precious, precious TV. The other day, I was using it in the usual manner (I won’t go into details. You’re welcome.) when the Princess Potty, nestled right next to the toilet, played it’s regal fanfare.

Hmmm, I thought, and continued my bidness. Then it played again. And again. Luckily for me, I was not the sole audience. My two older daughters were right outside the door.

“Don’t use the potty, Daddy!”
“That’s not your potty, Daddy!”

Then raucous laughter. I hollered my denials, but it only fanned the flames as the tiny toilet continued to play.

“Mommy, how come Daddy can use the potty when he said that we can’t?”
“Don’t sit on it, Daddy! You’ll break it!” And the fanfare played on and on.

Tiny fists beat at the door as the two-year-old realized that her potty was playing, and that she wasn’t on it. Eventually, I reached over and dismantled the cursed thing. I don’t know why it played over and over again. It was like something out of a Poe story. I put new batteries in, and it stopped malfunctioning. I don’t know if that was what the problem was or not, but it was all I could think of to do.

The funny thing is, when I first assembled it, I had kinda, just a little bit, wanted to try it. It’s not something that had been nagging at me, or that I was obsessing over. It was just, you put something together, you want to try it out. Take it for a test drive. Be the first to use it.

But please know and believe, as my oldest three children don’t, I did not use the Princess Potty.