Potty Talk

I am not refering to the “Oh Shit!” that Alexander used in proper context a couple of weeks ago when he knocked over the garbage can sending coffee grinds, dirty diapers and all the other lovely things that scattered across my newly cleaned kitchen floor not an hour after the housekeeper left. I am not refering to Christopher calling his younger brother a Poopy Head. I am refering to the lovely task of toilet training.

We’ve had a potty available to Alexander since the end of the summer. Every once in a while he would show us that he knew what he was supposed to do with it, but it was not something that interested him until the day before Thanksgiving.

With the house on the market and the little potty in no great demand she was hanging out in the basement with all the other toys on our rotating circuit. The kids had no school the day before Thanksgiving and we were all having a lovely, loungy, lazy morning. Alexander decided he would like to use his little potty in the shape of, and closely resembling a small throne. Ready to call his bluff I sent Rebecca down to get it — I really am getting lazier and lazier and lazier and not sure wheher this is getting worse with each and every kid I have, or if it is simply a symptom of old age. She came up and I went in to the kitchen, grabbed bottle of sanitizer, wiped the little seat off, and placed it in the family room. (My kids have all trained in there as well. Not sure why, probably also has something to do with laziness!) Alexander whipped off his diaper and sat down and proceeded to make himself proud. “Come See! Come See!” he shouted! “I went pee pee in the potty!” And with that there was no turning back though admittedly, sometimes I would like to. Again, because I am lazy.

The other two were two and a half when they were trained. Not that they were all that much older but enough to make a difference. It was summer and they could run around naked. Now it is wintertime and the wind is howling and the oil prices are through the roof and so it is important the little guy has some clothes on. Pants and underwear with tight elastic waists are proving to be a little challenging for this 2 year old. I have to get up every time he pees and every time he’s done. I also have to do a little Pee Pee dance. Then I have to empty the contents of the bowl into the toilet, making sure that I do not flush — this is clearly his job now –sanitize his seat and then place it back in the throne. The more he has to drink the more he pees and the more I have to get up and down. Unless I don’t. Unless Alexander decides to have an “accident”. I swear some of his accidents are on purpose. Then back down to the basement I must go to toss another load of soiled clothes in to the water. He is stubborn and he is in total control. I can ask if he needs to go and he’ll say “No!” and yet, the very minute I turn around there is a huge puddle by his feet. Unless candy is involved. My little candy monster will pee on demand for a few little m&ms. That said, I probably could too.

The only time I naver have to worry about him wetting his pants is when we are out and about. No we don’t wear a diaper or a pull-up; we don’t need to. We are addicted to checking out all the new public restrooms. And more importantly, we are addicted to doing this at the worst time possible. Today, in the grocery store a mile from either end, Alexander told me he had to go. I rushed down the aisles looking for a hallway containing a restroom, then I found it and raced faster crashing the cart through the door, tossed Alexander in to the Handicapped stall, unfolded his folding seat cover, placed it on the toilet then placing Alexander on it and guess what? He doesn’t have to go. So I made him sit there and we did not leave that restroom despite the fact the ice cream was melting because I knoew that once we were back out in the Siberian section of our supermega grocery store he really would have to go. Finally we accomplished what we had set to accomplish. I cleaned off the potty seat cover and wash our hands and, tried not to feel overwhelmed by all that was left to place in our cart. I saidno to his request of Lemonade or a juice box or any kind of liquid. Had I left well enough alone and kept the baby in diapers where he belongs, we could have already been home unloading the groceries from the car.

Eventually we got home and I was in the kitchen trying to place all the canned, boxed, non perishable items into the various cupboards and I heard an “Oh no, oh no, I had an accident, Mommy!” I told him I was disapointed and once again had to run back down to the basement to put the soiled clothes in the wash and then back up to his bedroom to get some clean clothes.

We had a couple more accidents this evening. They were what I call “Just Becauses.” They were Just Because he wanted to. There was clearly no reason for him to have had his accidents.

Some kids ask for water when they want to stall bedtime. Not my kid. My kid wants the potty. Nicely tucked in to his crib, diaper securely fastened, ready to give him a kiss and call it a day, Alexander announces that he has to use the bathroom. This is his latest trick. Works for him like a charm. Of course I pull him out of bed and let him go and even though he could have gone in his diaper, he opts for the toilet instead. I don’t get it, I just don’t get it. I suppose I ought to have thought twice about what I wished for when I said I wish I had no more kids in diapers! Oh, Poo!

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One thought on “Potty Talk

  1. Jessica,
    I think we might have long lost twins born a day apart on our hands. Walker is the same way from the correct use of “oh shit” to the potty accidents and insistence on underwear and well placed accidents. Whatever will we do?

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