3 Day Potty Training Novels & Stories

“What’s all this?” “This,” Artie said, gesturing grandly, “is your training schedule. You’re officially enrolled in Operation Mom and Dad Forever.” The Training Timetable was finally drafted. The triplets presented Alaric with a detailed timetable written in crayon: Daily Schedule: Morning: Call Mommy to ask if she slept well. Report your itinerary for the day. Afternoon: Lesson: Giving thoughtful compliments. Lesson: Active listening and responding appropriately. Evening: Call Mommy to talk about us and ask about her day.

Would he have been able to? Day thirty of thirty. Zero to go.

I put a fake smile on my face and walked to the bedroom, holding my shirt down not to reveal I wasn’t wearing underwear either. “Sure. I’ll be right back.” I replied and got into the bedroom and started grabbing outfits for both girls. “If you take your pj’s off, then I’ll pee and help you get dressed, okay?” I asked the girls, and they both nodded their heads. They were getting better at dressing themselves, but it was something I didn’t have the patience for today. Do you know how long it takes for a three year-old to get her clothes on? And then, most of the time, it’s not even the right way.

They growl whenever someone is close to me and go berserk if they think the person is trying to attack me. By attacking me, it could just be simple actions like hugging, shaking hands, or any other thing. That was when I realized that changing them back to normal would mean filling them up with things they ought to learn. They were like empty storage disks ready to be filled. So, I took it upon myself to train them daily for three hours in the morning and three hours in the evening. As expected, they were fast learners and mainly learned by copying and adapting. They were brilliant creatures.

I added. Three days is a pretty long time, right? Right?

Bosco grinned, “well, Sasha, as I said, I have twelve puppies and overnight they put into the room I call the daycare. Let me show you.” He opened a door at the far end of the room and motioned for her to precede him. The room was lit dimly with nightlights. There were at least ten oversized pet beds in the warm room which smelled of puppies and echoed of snores and the occasional yip. He motioned to a door, “we have them all potty trained now they are ten weeks old. They go through the door there to do their business for the most part though we do have accidents, so watch where you stand.” He giggled as Sasha did a double check of the floors and grimaced.

He insisted on continuing to help set up for the baby, and he and Az even started running some of the packs training sessions. As for my own training, this child is still growing like a weed, she’s two pounds four ounces now, and Dr. Crowen said I shouldn’t be pushing myself. So, we trained every other day for about three hours. Dad was unwilling to teach me anything new, saying that if I didn’t take it easy, we wouldn’t train at all, which shut my protests right up. Roman was no better; he grumbled every time I left for training, even though he knew damn well we weren’t doing any type of combat training.