Worse Before It Gets Better?

I feel inured these days.
Very inured.
Before you run to grab your dictionary, allow me to show off a bit (after all, my GRE studies seem to be the only effort of mine paying off with tangible results these days)

Inured means "to readily accept the undesirable"

Funny how cloes it seems to the word "injured", which would describe my pride, after a solid week of being met by long faces when I pick Gus up from preschool and leaving with a knotted plastic grocery bag full of smelly, sodden underwear and pants).

Some tell me they feel sorry for me, others venture out on a dangerously thin limb to tell me that it "gets worse before it gets better," still others tell me of the many, many boys they know first, second, third or some-suspicious-number -hand, who were well into their fourth year of life before they would poop on the potty.

I'm not buying it. My friends are all secretive about their boys' toilet exploits and I appreciate how nice they are trying to be, however, I'm simply close to despair over this whole thing. If there are so many boys not going to the potty at four, where are they? Not at Gus' preschool, I can assure you of that.

I feel inured. Though I still question plenty. Like why does this have to be so hard, and will everything be so hard?...and if so, how is that fair?

I've tried it all, I'm tired of it all. I can't think of anything else to do. Did I mention I'm tired?
All my puissance of conviction that with hard work I will see results has left me.
Now go look that up.