It is 4:40 am. After [stops to count] 9 hours of having a weeping child hurl himself around the room gripping his genitalia, I went downstairs to the storage room and dug out a pack of "GoodNights" pull ups for "big kids" that we got in the mail about 3 months ago. Thank god I never throw out a sample.
Its no wonder the kid can't pee in a toilet--we spent all week last week counting down the days until he was Too Big For Pull Ups and it only took 9 hours for me to completely undermine our authority and mix that signal. I will only say two things in my defense: the kid had not peed since FRIDAY NIGHT so there were health risks to consider. Second, it was not until I said, "Donovan, if I found you a pull up, would you pee in it?" that he actually looked at me with something close to understanding/recognition. Up to that point he had been either inconsolable or completely feral.
Mike is currently asleep on the couch. I am typing this while Donovan (hopefully) is sleeping in his bed. He was in our bed to start with but after about 40 minutes of sleep, the flailing and wailing started again. Tomorrow we are slated to go to Storybook Forest. I have a nasty feeling that we will be packing Pull Ups.
Twice in those 9 hours of awfulness, I broke down and cried. Both times, Donny stopped his own crying and came over and hugged me. The first time, he even patted me on the head. My kid may never be potty trained but at least he's got a heart.