jannica merrit

humor. honesty. sometimes both.



My Line in the Sand: A Guest Blogger Post

Hello Jannica Merritt readers, I am Jannica Merritt’s daughter, and this is my first solo blog post.  I hope you will excuse any grammatical errors as I recently turned three.

For over a year now, the adults in my life have been trying to sell me on a completely ridiculous concept. They have employed multiple tactics, including threats and bribery.  I have succumbed to none of them, nor shall I.  To quote a colloquialism, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

They have been attempting to persuade me to give up the ease and comfort of my diapers in exchange for the flimsy inconveniences of “big girl panties” and public bathrooms.  (The same public bathrooms which are so “dirty” Mother doesn’t wish me to even lie upon the floor of).

I know when I have a good thing going, and I will not to succumb to the pressure and overblown hype.  The incentives they try to use to sell me on this are ridiculous and mediocre at best.

For example:

1. Potty Candy.  Marshmallows and M & Ms are nice, but not equal to the value of the time I squander sitting on that boring potty chair. *Yawn*  I fail to understand why there are no wheels for a big girl on the go…but not that go.

2. Big Girl Panties. Yes, so they have cute designs on them. So what? So do my diapers. What difference does it make if I have Trolls next to my skin or Mickey Mouse on the outside of a diaper?  They show the panties to me often and ask, “Don’t you want to be able to wear Big Girl Panties?”  Same answer as before, a resounding “no”.

3. Being a “big girl”.  I already know I am, and I feel no need to prove it to you Judgemental Judies.  I am secure and confident in myself and have no need to prove anything to anyone.

4. “No diaper rash when you are potty trained.”  THAT, my friends, lies squarely on the shoulders of the adults in my life who do not check hourly and change me immediately after I have a poopy.

5.  Offering television, only to have it be yet another screening of “Elmo’s Potty Time”…or, offering to read me a book and it’s “Once Upon A Potty.”  Enough, already!  I have given my answer.

Lastly, there are the sneaky, semi-manipulative way my Mother tries to sneak in Pull Ups instead of normal diapers, and peppers it with silly comparisons of pulling it up my hips “just like you will big girl panties some day soon!”

Think again, grown ups!

Post Script: I even go out of my way to help the adults around me.  I will, if asked, bring a clean diaper and a wipe to them.  Yes, it really is enabling their laziness, but I do just love to help.  Help, but not enable their idiosyncrasies.

How My Kids Build My Self-Esteem


It would be nice to be a Hollywood star, with a personal trainer, a personal chef, and maybe a plastic surgeon on staff to help me get my body back in shape after two pregnancies, but that is far beyond the constraints of my budget. I don’t have the same amount of free time for self-care.  All the personal development courses I used to take have fallen by the wayside.  My post-baby body hasn’t rebounded as quickly or as well as I had hoped, either.  Fortunately, however, I have my children to help me rebuild my self-esteem.

My five year old son likes to have contests, which produce one winner, one loser, and no one in between.  While I am not a big proponent of Participation Trophies or always praising everything they do, getting his seat belt buckled before I can buckle his little sister in and get around  to his side of my car does not feel like a win-lose type of contest.  Or worthy of his “You Lose!” song, which doesn’t contain many more lyrics than repeated statements about me losing and him winning and a ton of finger pointing.

“Mommy, I am little, my sister is little, and you are big!”  Thanks, son.  I know, at five, “big” is not an insult, but it hits on the pregnancy weight I never lost.  Weight which would have been appropriate had my daughter’s birth weight been twenty pounds, the amniotic fluid five, and her placenta another five.

Also, he is thoroughly convinced that he is much stronger than I am.  No, at five, he is not yet stronger than I am.  One day, he will be.  But not today. And when that day comes I will be the mother looking at her son towering over her and I will be repeating the famous phrase, “I brought you into this world, and I can take you out!”

Then, there is my two-year-old daughter.  She recently followed me into my bathroom, as she does most days, fascinated by what I was doing sitting on the toilet.

“A poop?’ she enquired, with genuine excitement, trying to peer behind me into the bowl.

For some reason, channeling a Hugh Grantish British tinge to my voice, “No, sorry.  Just pee.”

“No poop?” she repeated, clearly disappointed that I had led her on, obviously a cruel parental bait and switch situation.

“No, sorry.”

With a small growl of disappointment, she walked in front of me, and stared at my crotch.  “Ah, YUCK!” she exclaimed, pointing in case I was unsure of her reference, and stomped out.

No need for self-help books, therapy, or a visit to Dr. Phil; my children are all over building their Mom up!




Photo Credit Jamiesrabbits on Flickr.  Thank you for the use of your awesome image!

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