Training. . .potty training that is

I think I would rather run an ultra-marathon than potty train my two year old daughter.  I HATE potty training and quite frankly it hates me.  Getting my son to poop in the potty was my Everest and I don't want to climb Everest again.  I will pay someone a million dollars to come potty train my child (DISCLAIMER: I do not actually have a million dollars so don't show up on my doorstep asking for the potty training job). 

When I was pregnant with Emerson I would pray, "Lord, let her be healthy and let her be a potty savant."  Well, she's healthy.  A genius on the can. . . not so much.  So alas, we are beginning to start the hell that is potty training.  We only have one success and a very stubborn girl who thinks it is ridiculous that we won't let her wear her diapers.  Um, I thought girls were suppose to be easier to potty train?

The next few weeks should be filled with paper towels, loads of laundry, frustrations, hopefully celebrations, bribes, and desperate pleas to God for my sanity!  But when I can kick that final pamper to the curb and pronounce the Schmidt house a diaper free zone it will all be worth it!  Wish me luck because I am going to need it.

Come on Emerson!  A cat can do it for Pete's sake!!