It’s My Potty and I’ll Cry If I Want To

Will decided last week that it was time to “rip the band aid off” with respect to potty training.  Yeah, our 3 year old daughter has been inching toward big girl panties now for about 9 months.  Our lack of progress would be pretty hysterical if it weren’t so damn expensive (pull ups are ridiculous compared to regular diapers and oh yeah you need the regulars too for night wear).  We have every variety of big kid diapers-trainers-pull ups-and panties you can imagine.  We have rubber pants.  We have it all.  She just refuses to participate.

She knows what to do.  She’s made successful deposits before.  But she usually hides somewhere to poop, emerging stinking with a bulging diaper moments later.  And the stink?  Oh.  My.  God.  I don’t know which is worse: changing the diaper myself while breathing through my mouth (and irrationally worrying I’m going to inhale fecal coliform germs) or listening to Will gag loudly while he does it, worrying (not so irrationally) that he  might spew on the carpet or –worse- our daughter and I’ll have to clean it up.

And for more fun?  She now actively avoids having her diaper changed.  At home it doesn’t’ help that when she’s lying down to be changed Felix tries to crawl over her face, grabbing fistfuls of long flowing blonde hair.  Even her teacher, poor Ms. T, reports that Stella tries to run away.  Sometimes her diaper rash gets so bad that her butt looks like hamburger.  I’ve made up a goofy/stupid song to help her feel better about ointment on her (remember that horrible old Bon Jovi song “Bad Medicine?”  Yeah, at my house it’s “Butt Medicine,” thank you very much.).  I’m afraid it’s becoming a “thing.”

I told Will I didn’t want this to turn even more into “a thing,” but he was hell-bent.  This was the first weekend in almost 2 months we didn’t have anything scheduled.  The plan?  Potty Training Boot Camp, or Extreme Potty Training.  We would lock ourselves down, and just do it.  I pointed out one very important thing to Will before we began:  that he would have to get up when me and the kids got up.  There was no way I was going to deal with 2 kids alone while one of them was running around the house with her butt out.  And Felix?  That kid is like a guided missile.  Wherever you don’t want him to be is where he’s going and man is he fast!!!  So yes, he’s going to try to participate in the action by crawling around in the bathroom, grabbing at Stella’s legs, and pissing her off.

Along comes Saturday morning, 4:20 AM.  The kids are up.  I get Will up.  He sets up shop in the bathroom with Stella, the iPad, several of her stuffed friends, and a cup of chocolate milk.  I handle Felix and make coffee.  By 5:30 nothing was in that commode except water.  Will and I traded positions several times.  Every bribe possible and reasonable was made:  sparkly hair (whereby I color her hair with crayola markers), a trip to Chuck E Cheese, cupcakes.  She had ring around the butt from sitting on the seat so long.  She finally asked for a diaper.  Will, exhausted, relented.  Stella climbed into her “foxhole” (she lowers herself into the sink opening for her play kitchen) and crapped in her pants.

Will has given up.  On a positive note, he now knows what it’s like to be up in all your glory at the ass-crack of dawn with 2 children.

Stella and poop: 1, Parents: 0

Felix might be potty trained before his big sister.  Geeez.


About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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3 Responses to It’s My Potty and I’ll Cry If I Want To

  1. Teeny Bikini says:

    “Stella and poop: 1, Parents: 0” Hang in there, champ… See? If it weren’t for blogs like this I would have no idea what a challenge making someone poop in a toilet can be… I learn something new day, usually not poop-related, but still it made for a hysterical story. And she’s he cutest little munchkin. So there’s that. Good luck!!

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