All this because of fifteen pairs of underpants

Fifteen.  That's how many pairs of big boy underpants we went through yesterday between the hours of 9am and 6pm.  FIFTEEN!  I still don't even understand how he could make so much urine.  Apparently, peeing on the floor, couch, his mom... is the funnest thing ever.  By the time we got to the twelfth pair of underpants, I was loosing steam.  I called John and told him he had to come home, I was going crazy, and could not be held resposnible for what I might do if I got even one more drop of pee on me. (I was already covered in four different kinds of bodily fluids and hadn't had a spare second to hose myself off)  He came home and Alex peed and pooped through three more pairs of underpants in one hour, DESPITE having been taken to the potty twice. 

John and I argued back and forth about whether or not we should a) keep going with the underpants and b) keep going with potty training at all.  John's feelings were Alex wasn't ready and I was just making us all miserable (and stinky) pushing the issue.  My feelings were that Alex is ready, but just being a turd about it and if we quit he wins, and may never get potty trained.  In the end, we agreed to slow down, put him back in pull ups and continue taking him to the potty at regular intervals (first thing when he wakes, before and after meals, before and after outings and before bed).  Defeated, I put him in a Pull Up and went out to get some chocolate ice cream (EMOTIONAL EATER!).

The thing is, I feel like a failure.  I'm a stay at home mom.  This is all I do, but I seem to be failing miserably.  I have a child who won't eat healthy food, misbehaves, bites, hits, throws tantrums and thinks the floor is a perfectly acceptable place to relieve himself.  My house is a mess, and I'm a terrible cook.  I'm fat and most days I smell like regurgitated breast milk.  I can't seem to find the time to take a shower every day.  I'm lucky if I get one every other day and when I do, I don't even bother doing my hair or put on makeup.  I live in sweatpants.  My underwear are ugly.  It's not like I'm not trying.  I put everything I have into trying to raise my boys and be a good wife, but apparently this is a job that is too much for me.  People with half my IQ can raise respectful, potty trained kids and not have to wonder how many days they've been wearing the same bra.  Why is this so hard for me?  I'm smart, I've been good at everything I've ever set out to do.  Why does this have to be my weak point?

I've done the research.  I can't even count how many parenting books I've read, I have subscriptions to parenting magazines, I read parenting websites.  I talk to my friends and try to solicit advice.  But still, I fail. 

My family is the most important thing to me.  My boys are my entire world.  I see my job as their mother as the only thing I could do that matters.  I so desperately want to do right by them.  Nothing is more important to me than making sure they are happy, healthy and grow up to be well adjusted, productive members of society.  Members of society that don't poop in their pants.

Maybe it's not as bad as I think it is. Maybe three year olds are like this no matter what you do.  Maybe I'm still adjusting to having a new baby (who is going through a very FUSSY phase right now) and I'm feeling overwhelmed.  Maybe the constant scent of regurgitated and spoiled breast milk on my shirts is making me crazy.  And maybe I really do have a long way to go to become the mother I want to be.  Either way, I need to stop throwing myself a pity party because it isn't doing anyone any good.  John says not to worry.  That I'm a good mom because I love our kids and I treat them like I love them, and that's enough.  I don't know if it is.  It seems that loving them is the easiest thing in the world, but just loving them doesn't get them potty trained now does it?