My head knows it's not my fault. I am not a failure as a parent. My head knows it, but the rest of me is a lot tougher to convince.
The part of me that sees and reads about almost every child we know younger than Emmett (though of a reasonable age, of course) is not only standing but moving their tiny feet, one after the other - while our thirteen-month-old gets much praise and adulation for simply pulling to his own two feet while Mommy pulls his hands up higher than he can reasonably reach while resting on his booty or knees.
And the part of me that sees and reads about almost every child we know younger than Micaiah (though of a reasonable age, of course) who seems to already be using the potty - and has learned to do so in a matter of weeks, or even days - while our near-three-year-old, after months (and months, and months) of encouragement, positive attitudes and training still continues her dis-interest in all things potty. Or, rather, she likes the idea of Dora underwear or M&M's for sitting on the toilet, but is not really into actually trying for a permanent move from diapers.
My head knows it's not my fault. These things can't be forced and if they're not interested, the only result of forcing a child into either of the above activities is, most likely, irreversible psychological damage.
But part of me still feels like a failure as a parent. I suppose if this is where we fail, life could be worse.