I don't ask you about your toilet habits so back off my kid

When did it become acceptable for one complete stranger to ask another complete stranger if the latter's toddler is potty trained?

For instance...

...The other day in the grocery store. I just ran in to buy a few items when the (complete stranger) nice older lady checking my groceries asked, out of the clear blue, if Chicky was potty trained yet.

Uh, no.

"Oh," looking at Chicky, "Someone's still using baby diappies. You're not a baby anymore. You need to make tinkle in the potty."

Even Chicky was stunned. Guilt from a total stranger? Ain't that a bitch?

Not to mention that, no, Chicky is not a baby anymore, so why was the (complete fricking stranger) nice older lady speaking in baby talk? I tink someone needs to cut back on dere houwers and go back to da home for dere wedicine.

It seems wherever we go these days there's always someone inquiring about the status of Chicky's potty usage. And by "inquiring" I mean sticking their pointy noses where they don't belong. The older, grandmotherly types can't believe that she wasn't toilet trained by her second birthday (oh, the horror!). Mothers of other toddler's want to compare notes and make sure there kid is on schedule, if not doing better, than other kids their age. Mothers of slightly older children want to offer advice - even if you don't want it and you didn't ask for it.

These types are usually the exception, not the rule, thankfully. But then there is my family.

Ugh.

My dad, whom I doubt had too much of a hand in getting me potty trained at the ridiculous age of 18 months, is always the first to gently chastise his only grandchild for still wearing diapers. He's followed by his lady friend, my Nana, and my sister. None of them, I should add, have offered to train Chicky themselves but they're always there to ask what's taking so long. Sometimes I go along with them. Often I stay silent and change the subject.

(I love my family. I love my family. I love my family.)

But here's my secret: I'm in no hurry to have my daughter use the toilet and she, either feeding off my apathy or going on her own timeline, is in no hurry either. And honestly I find it convenient when taking my daughter out to the mall, for instance, that she's still in diapers. No scary sounds of "Uh oh" followed by a trip to Gymboree for some dry pants. Not once have I had to deal with being in aisle 7 of the grocery store, sandwiched between the cans of peas and the spaghetti sauce, and hearing the words, "Mommy, I need to go potty NOW." That will come soon enough, thankyouverymuch.

Nope, I'm in no rush at all.

I'm a fairly laid back person. I believe when it comes to certain matters Nature will step in when necessary, so why fight it? Chicky will use the potty when she's ready. To use a tired old saying, I don't think she'll be the only kid in diapers on the first day elementary school.

I've always felt this way but I will admit the pressure from others started to get to me. What if I was doing my daughter a disservice by not gently leading her toward potty training? We have videos and books and two potties in the house. We talk about the potty, we talk about big girl underwear, but still Chicky is not interested enough to try it herself. What if it was me who was the problem?

But then this weekend I caught Chicky, if you will excuse the cliche Mommy blogger talk, making that scrunched up face that could only mean one thing - she was about to poop. I coerced her onto the potty - okay, I picked her up and ran her to the bathroom, yanked off her pants, and put her down on the pot - where she cried a little at first but then proceeded to talk excitedly about getting candy. Because that's what happens when big girls use the potty. They get candy.

She talked. And sat. And talked. And sat. And nothing came out.

(Sounds like someone's been reading "Once Upon a Potty" too much, eh?)

Nothing came out that day in her diaper either. Or the next day. Or the next. Until the fourth day when she made that face again and I gently encouraged her to use the potty. And she screamed in terror. My little girl was terrified to use the potty. That's when I knew it was time to start listening to her, and to my gut, and cool it with the toilet talk.

Which means, the next time someone suggests to my daughter that she's somehow inadequate because she's not toilet trained the Mama Bear in me will have to come out. I almost feel sorry for that woman in the grocery store. I'll have to make sure I don't go through her line again so I won't feel the need to tell her to back the fuck off.

Yeah, it's about poop. You wanna make something of it?

Chicky, as most kids her age, is fascinated by bodily functions of all sorts. Burping, farting, and pooping are all things that should be, in her mind, announced for all to share. Not just announced, but celebrated. Heralded. Shouted from the rooftops.

"I burp," says my child in a quiet post office full of stressed customers. "I burp," she says again, more emphatically, as she points to her mouth. "I burp, I burp, I BURP."

(Did you catch that, Ma? I burped. Jeez.)

My cheeks reddened but the formerly woeful patrons managed to crack a smile at that one. Mission accomplished.

Since her language skills are still coming along she has not yet grabbed on to the word "fart", so all gas that comes out of one's derrière is "poop".

"Daddy poop!" "Doggie poop!" - yes, every time it is exclaimed - "Chicky poop!"

"Mama poop!"

No, honey. That was, um...

Aw, hell. Yeah. That was Mama. Mama farted. And it felt good. It felt so good I might do it again. C'mon, let's fart together. Mother-daughter farting - now that's a good bonding experience.

I come from a long line of repressed people so for me this declaration of gas passing is an almost liberating experience. It's not like I'll start burping and farting at dinner parties, and I don't think I'll ever ask anyone to "Pull my finger", but if letting out a house-shaking belch makes my kid laugh then I'm pro-gas.

Except after Mr. C eats a burrito. I'm not pro-gas then. No, then I'm anti-gas. Very much anti-gas.

Now that Chicky is giving names to her emissions we thought it was time to move on to that-which-scares-me-above-all-toddler-development-milestones: Potty Training. The way I see it if she can call to me from another room to say "I pooping!" to alert me of the gift I will soon be finding in her diaper the least we can do is introduce her to the potty. And the least she can do is oblige.

The idea of potty training my daughter keeps me up at night. I have no idea where to begin. What if she hates the potty? What if she's one of those kids who gets refused at our pre-school of choice because she's not using the toilet yet. Will I ever be able to bring her out in public while she's potty training? Oh my God, what if she has to go to the toilet while we're in the grocery store and I don't get her there in time and she's scarred for life because her mother was too slow and forced her to wet herself in the middle of Stop & Shop? Or worse, what if we're stuck at the post office and she poops her pants? I don't think my neighbors will be smiling then.

Come to find out one of my fears was unfounded. Chicky loves the potty. She loved it from the moment I brought it home. It was not even out of the box and she was nearly apoplectic from the excitement. She was thrilled to be stripped from the waist down so she could sit on it and pretend to poop.

Pretend being the operative word in that sentence.

She grunts. Her face gets red. She says, "I pooping. I pooping!" And then? Nothing. She hops off the pot, looks inside, shrugs and then slams the lid.

"All done!"

I swear if she could she would skip away, happily, naked butt bouncing in the breeze. Now she just slams the lid and then stands in front of the full length mirror as she points to her behind. "Butt, Mama!" Then she slaps her ass. Oy.

She's spent enough time in the bathroom with her father while he's dropping the kids off at the pool, the poor girl, so she should be getting the idea of what the toilet is used for. But so far she has only latched on to one part of toilet time:

At least she has good taste in bathroom reading material.

I suppose I don't have to worry too much right now as she's not quite two years old yet. But any sage advice from you wise parents would be appreciated. Do you have any tips on how to at least get her to pee in the potty? Should I bribe her? Wait her out?

For now I think I'll just update her reading material. Jessica Biel is so yesterday's news.