I think I am beginning to hate marshmallows.
As an incentive for Gwyn to use the potty, I filled a pretty little jar with those tiny, pastel, tempting, marshmallows that I just knew my toddler would oodle over.
My own mom potty-trained me using these marshmallows and apparently it worked well. I mean, I’ve only had minimal accidents since a child, so I would call that a success. I had an accident once while in high school (Hmm… I wonder if it’s finally time to share/confess that story…) and then a few here and there before and after the birth of my children. Do I sense a pee post coming soon?
Well, Gwyn is still not interested in using the potty, and while I don’t want to push her in fear of regression, I still offer up yummy mallows if she wants to tinkle in the pot.
To show her how it all would work, I tinkled in the pot and then super excitedly got to choose a marshmallow. Simple as that!
The only problem is that EVERY time I use the pot, I now have to eat a marshmallow.
Gwyn gets so excited that I used the big girl potty that she claps her hands for me and says, “Good job, Mama!!! Marshmallow!?!?” In which I reply, “Yeeeeeep. Yaaaaay for me. I get a (nother) marshmallow!”
It started out as an enthusiastic response, but has turned a bit sarcastic as I was never really a fan of marshmallows to begin with.
I think I am close to finishing a bag of those little suckers.
I can tell she wants one of those little mallows so badly and will be uber excited the day she decides to let it all out while on the throne, but until then, I’ll just try not to get diabetes with all of my sugar intake.