Step one:

Upon waking, let the child know he is a “big boy now” who is “all done diapers.”

You can offer a visual demonstration of this by throwing a diaper into a garbage can. Or, for more effect, throw the diapers into a large mound and set them on fire. Watch the flames dance in your child’s big boy eyes.

Step two:

Put the child in underwear.

No! Not the Paw Patrol pair! He doesn’t like that pair. No, not the Mickey Mouse pair either!  No, definitely not Cars! Perhaps the pair with Kung Fu Panda winking upon the derrière?

Yes, ok, those will do.

Step three:

Set a kitchen timer.

Every thirty minutes, sit the child upon the toilet for five minutes. If the child successfully voids into the toilet, offer a reward in the form of an edible, a preferred toy, or your soul.

Whatever it is he would like, get it, and get it fucking fast.

Step four:

Do this for three days. Yes, you heard me right, THREE.

Do not leave the apartment. Forget what the sun looks like. Forget what it’s like to interact with other human animals.

Do this and at the end of three days, your child will be potty trained. You can do anything in three days! Jesus rose from the dead, for Christ’s sake. Surely you can teach your kid not to shit his pants.

Step five:

Keep it fun!

Make up a little song to sing while he sits upon the toilet. Call it “The Potty Song.” Try to think of a lyric other than, “We’re sittin’ on the potty, oh yeah!”

You can’t can you? That’s okay. Sing Fleetwood Mac instead.

Step six:

Several moms will enthusiastically encourage you to drop a Cheerio into the potty and tell your son to “aim for it.” But your son only looks at you in bafflement upon this suggestion.

Can you blame him? Imagine someone placing your morning breakfast into the toilet and suggesting you direct your urine stream upon it. Sound nice? Didn’t think so.

Flush the Cheerio. Other mothers are idiots.

Step seven:

Keep track of when he successfully voids.

Yes, I know the word void is awful in this context. But it’s awful in every context. Think about it: bad checks, the abyss, etc.

There is no good void, so get over it.

Step eight:

You’ll need to have several indoor activities prepared. Be sure to have lots of stimulating things on hand, like Play-doh and puzzles. Also, Netflix.

Now is a good time to rediscover “Pee-wee’s Playhouse” with your little one. Watch as he giggles over Pee-wee’s goofy antics, then privately marvel at how the show was so blatantly created for marijuana users.

Do you realize you’ve been to the bathroom 24 times today? Marijuana sounds good right about now, doesn’t it? Ha! Too bad. There goes the timer.

Step nine:

Be sure to create a positive, relaxed atmosphere for the child. Try not to become overly anxious.

Yes, I know your friend told you her college psychology class said a bad potty experience can scar a child for life. But don’t worry, you’re totally not doing that. He definitely won’t end up drunk on a reality show covered in tribal tattoos.

I mean, probably not.

Step ten: 

When standing in piss in your living-room, close your eyes and pretend you’re wading into the warm Mediterranean waters off Barcelona.

You went to Spain once, remember? Remember how you lazily drank sangria in the sun?

Now, wipe the piss from your heels. The timer is going off.

Step eleven:

A potty training drinking game? Ha! You think you’re the first parent to think of that, don’t you? That’s cute.

Tell you what: when the child independently requests to use a toilet, you can have a shot of tequila.

Oh hey, look who’s still stone-cold sober.

Should your child urinate on the floor in front of the potty, you may lick a wine cork dipped in Benadryl. You’re welcome.

Step twelve: 

If your child asks to hold the timer upon the potty, go on, let him. It’ll be fine. 

Hey, remember how there was a time when you wouldn’t reach into the toilet with your bare hands to fish things out of the water?

Yeah. That time is called “the past.”

Step thirteen:

At 5:00PM you may reward yourself with a glass of wine. (Alright, fine, 4:52. Jeezuuus.)

When your husband comes home and raises his eyebrows at the dent you’ve already put in the Chardonnay, give him a look that lets him know you’ve spent the bulk of your week kneeling before a toilet discussing the finer points of Conky, Pee-wee Herman’s awkwardly constructed robot.

Congratulations! It’s been three days! Your child is now successfully potty-trained! You’ll never clean up human feces again.

Haha! Just kidding! You definitely will. But now you’ll get to do it in Target, while crouched in a tiny stall, cursing yourself for forgetting an extra pair of underwear.