Does pooping in the yard count as potty training?

Asking for a friend. [Okay, fine, for my kid. But also a little for myself, because I’m still not sure how the handbook I never read would categorize that one.]

One second, he was running barefoot through the grass, shouting about sticks, and the next… well, let’s just say the dogs were not impressed… or maybe they were? 

And there I was—equal parts horrified, proud, and trying very hard not to laugh—thinking: maybe this is what progress looks like.

This is the funny, maddening, humbling stage we’re in. Potty training, which basically means my brain has turned into a constant ticker tape of how much water has he had? how long since the last time he went? do we have spare clothes in the car? I swear I’ve developed a sixth sense for when the “uh-oh” moment is coming.

And yet—I’m not forcing it. No three-day bootcamps, no elaborate sticker charts (unless you count the stickers we’re currently using as a bribe to sit on the potty that mostly end up in his hair and all over the floor). Just slow steps forward, little victories, a lot of mess, and the reminder that whether I feel ready or not… it’s time.

Because if I keep dragging my feet, we’ll never start. But if I push too hard, everyone’s miserable. So instead, I find myself wobbling in the in-between: coaching, cheering, running for the bathroom (or the nearest patch of grass, apparently), trying again tomorrow.

And somewhere in all of it, I’m noticing the bigger thing: time won’t wait for me to catch up.

He’s not a baby anymore. Even though his legs dangle off the toilet seat now, his sentences are full (well, most of the time), his opinions are strong, his world is expanding — whether I’m ready or not.

It’s wild how something as ridiculous as a yard poop can also feel like a line in the sand: before and after, baby and not-baby, then and now.

And it makes me wonder about all the other places I drag my feet. The things I put off because I’m waiting for “the right time.” But the truth? The right time is never perfect. It’s always messy, inconvenient, a little chaotic. And yet—it’s still worth starting before the moment slips away.

Family photos are like that too. It’s so easy to wait until life feels calmer, the house feels cleaner [spoiler, it doesn’t need to be], the chaos feels less… loud. 

But in my experience? The beauty is in the chaos. The not-quite-ready, one-bathroom-short, “is this progress?” version of your life is exactly the part worth remembering.

So if you’ve been dragging your feet—consider this your nudge.

Because one day, sooner than we want to believe, our kids will not be pooping in diapers [or in the yard]. And we’ll miss even this.

[This note was written while the first crisp chill of October slid through the living room window, curling around the [cold] mug of coffee I haven’t sipped fast enough.]

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