From the depths of despair, or one big fat whine

I have been too miserable to write as of late because we have decided, for better or worse, to work on potty training with Mr. Mizz. I think the only stage of parenting that was worse was when Mizz spent a great deal of time gagging himself. Right now even labor and childbirth seems easier--at least there is a presumable ending point to that whole affair and a pretty substantial reward. To say that Mizz has been wildly inconsistent in his efforts is an understatement. I basically spend the better part of the day talking him through pottying, worrying that he is gonna have an accident, and cleaning up the accidents. The last two parts are actually not that bad, but corralling him to the potty every thirty minutes and then providing the entertainment while he goes or not goes is getting oh so old. And then to have him pee on the floor minutes later sorta makes it all seem, um, fruitless. Because, what truly makes this whole ordeal hard, is the worry that maybe he isn't ready, maybe it is a bad time because of all the stress and imminent changes, and basically are we psychologically damaging him forever? Will he hear timers go off and see candy and get nervous with an unexplained urge to urinate as an adult? Who knows? I am going to just have faith that he is enormously resilient and what the heck, we all end up with issues in the end anyway. And, I suppose, more to the point, this is only day four, I need to remember that it might take some time and not be swayed by all those stories of it magically happening overnight.