Ain’t Nobody Got Time to Poopy

I gotta tell ya, one of the hardest parts of being a parent is potty training your child. I loathe this part of my life. I’m eager to fast forward to the next stage and be done!

For the most part Davey is potty trained. He pee pees in the potty quite regularly, can make it through nap time and even bedtime without an accident, and actually seems to enjoy the peeing part. The pooping part? Well, that’s a whole other demon and when I’m neck deep in trying to help him poop all I can think is, “I gave up a paying job for this?” At least in the corporate world, when I was neck deep in crap I was getting compensated for it. Here? This doesn’t even help with a down payment on a nice new pair of shoes.

Davey hates, with a capital H, pooping in the potty. I’ve tried begging him, bribing him, guilt tripping him, and even scaring the poop right out of him. Nothing works! This kid will hold it in for days until he just can’t hold it anymore and then we just pray he makes it to the bathroom in time. It’s madness!

Monday, a week after his last poop, I became determined to make sure that one way or another he got out a poop so I called the doctor. It can’t possibly be healthy having all of that backed up inside of you. I was nervous the doctor would want me to bring him in, would tell me horror stories, or berate me for being a mother incapable of getting a poop out of her kid. After all, what sort of mother am I?

I was told it was still a bit too early to panic, but that action needed to be taken immediately. I’m to limit his dairy intake to 2-3 servings per day, increase the fiber in his diet (almost impossible with the world’s pickiest eater), and to give him a capful of Miralax. Fortunately, I didn’t have to do any of that as he literally hit his pooping point and almost didn’t make it to the potty in time.

I sat down with my mother and told her of my problems. As usual, I asked what sort of advice she could give me. She sat back and chuckled quietly before mumbling something along the lines of, “what goes around, comes around.”

Apparently, Davey has inherited his “not pooping” stance from me. When I ask him why he doesn’t want to poop in the potty he says he doesn’t have time. Doesn’t have time? Are you kidding me? What could possibly be more important? Oh! Perhaps it’s terrorizing the dog or his little brother, or maybe it’s demolishing my house. I get it! (not really) And when he finally does poopy,it hurts leaving him with that horrible feeling that encourages him not to poop again.

My mother reminds me of the fact that I once used those same words with her around this age. For years, she gave me prune juice (barf), castor oil, and Metamucil. She claims I didn’t start pooping again until she was graphic about what the doctor would need to do to me. YIKES! I’m not sharing that on this blog.

So, I’m a bit behind the eight ball here. I’m finding myself wondering how I’m going to win the battle with a mini-me, hard-headed, stubborn, independent, and strong-willed. Someone, somehow, is going to have to find time to poop. To aid in this effort, as usual, I’ve bought Davey a book, entitled “It Hurts When I Poop”. Usually, books are the key in this house.

Pooping book

My Husband is Grateful

And being the good Christian wife I am, I should be happy that he’s grateful, right? Here’s the problem, though, I’m also human and when he said the words, “I’m grateful” today, I took them out of context, and it made me resentful and angry.

Being a stay at home mom is under-rated. I’ve heard some claim it’s over-rated, but really it’s one of the most thankless and at times degrading jobs a woman will ever have. On the plus side, it is also one of the most rewarding and loving jobs. Today, with my Drowning in the Terrible Twos Davey, was not one of the days that I enjoyed. Truthfully, today was one of the days that I not only envied my husband, but I despised him as well. Not very Christian-like of me, I know.

I’ve been so proud of Davey lately. We seemed to have rounded the corner finally with potty training and he’s been using the potty on a regular basis with minimal accidents, but for some reason on Tuesday he’s regressed back to not wanting to potty. It’s making my life miserable. I’ve come so far with him. Should I just put him back in pull ups and let him come to me when he’s ready to start wearing big boy underwear again? Or should I just keep following the path I’m on with him? I don’t want to ruin our progress.

Here’s my conundrum the past few days…Davey will sit on the potty, but he refuses to use it. Instead he holds it in and waits until nap time or bed time when I put on a pull up, then pees and poops at that point. I don’t know what’s changed in the past few days, but something has and it’s really no good for my patience. I’ve tried reasoning with him, which is like reasoning with a terrorist. I’ve tried bribing him, which is like dangling meat in front of a vegetarian. I’ve tried threatening to take away his toys. I’ve tried encouragement, songs, reading books, dancing…you name it, I’ve tried it the past few days, to no avail.

Today, I decided that Davey would sit on the potty until he peed or pooped in it. I took a pull up off of him at 7:30 and 1 cup of milk, tea, 2 cups of water, and 5 hours later, he still didn’t want to pee. He had it in him! I know he did! And I was determined that he was not going to get the better of me and hold it in until nap time and pee in his pull up. No, sir! I know where he’s gotten his strong-willed, stubborn streak from…ME! What he should know is that I’m the master and I will win, or so I continued to tell myself. Now here’s where the “I’m grateful” remark came into play with my husband…

While sitting on the potty, Davey begins a barrage of nasty tones, words, and accusations all directed towards me! ME!?!?!? Not only did he tell me that he didn’t love me, nor did he like me, but he also told me that his Daddy was his favorite, I’m a mean witch, and Daddy is the best. I believe his actually words were, “make daddy come home and you go away forever.” Are you kidding me? Why do I get to deal with all of this abuse? I’m the one that carried him for 9+ months, have a lovely scar from the surgery and a belly that will never be as flat or hips as slim as they once were because of him. I’m the one who suffered through leg cramps, horrible heartburn, sleepless nights, and weeks of recovery pain after having him. I’m the one who gave up my career to stay home with him, to be an active part of his life, to take the responsibility of molding him with my own hands. I’m the one who doesn’t get the luxury of overnight business trips in nice hotels with no screaming kids. I’m the one who deals with getting peed on, vomited on, and even at times pooped on. And yet, I get treated like I’m the wicked witch of the west!

My husband says to me, during my rant, that he’s “grateful” which in turn caused me to unleash a bombardment of angry words at him. I said to him “You’re grateful that you’re seen as the good guy and I’m the bad guy or are you just grateful that you are working AND out of town and don’t have to deal with the unpleasant side of raising our boys?” Was that unfair on my part? Perhaps, but in the heat of the moment I didn’t want to hear his “I’m grateful” comment even if I did cut him off before he finished with “I’m grateful that you’re the one who’s capable of handling our boys and I’m grateful that you’re their mother and I’m grateful that you take care of them.”

Well, I suppose I’m glad his grateful, but for once JUST ONCE, I’d like to be seen as the good guy. I’d like to be seen as the favorite parent (that’s selfish, I know). For once, I’d like to make it through a day without Davey calling me a mean witch. I don’t want my husband to be grateful (well, really I do). What I want is to have my loving, cuddly relationship I had with what was once my sweet boy. I want my cake and eat it too.

Welcome Back to Corporate America

I know I’m not the only stay at home mom who’s had days like this. They’re the kind of days when you daydream about your old life. The days when you think about the money you used to make. The days when work was left at work and once you walked into the door of your home it was a whole new world. The days when you were paid to put up with sh*t instead of being literally covered in it for free. Please tell me I’m not the only one to actually consider going back to work just to escape my 24/7 life as a stay at home mom. Please?!?!?!

I attribute part of it to the fact that I’ve suffered through round 2 of the dreaded stomach flu in less than 2 weeks. I attribute it to the fact, that not only was I unable to eat, but I was spending every 15-20 minutes in the bathroom for myself and then another 15-20 minutes with my toddler while potty training him (or attempting to). I blame it on the lack of sleep which has affected my lack of patience. I point a finger at my husband’s job which seems to have him working 20 hour days and traveling overnight. I basically blame it on my ability to get too easily overwhelmed.

I spent Wednesday night crying, not just crying, but sobbing. I found myself asking, “is this really the life you want, Amy?” I started perusing online for jobs that I was qualified for and began worrying about whether I would even get a job after taking a 2 year hiatus. I started thinking about the military wives who have husbands away on tour for months on end. These moms have to raise their children on their own and yet I’m complaining about having a bad day. How pathetic am I to gripe about my life? Yeah, I went down that path too.

When I started looking for jobs, I started feeling conflicted. Do I really want to go back to work? Do I really want to miss out on my boys growing up, their adventures, their firsts? I’d be taking the easy way out and what would all of those other stay at home moms think about me when they saw I couldn’t cut it? Yep, I started thinking about that stuff too.

My patience had entered a whole new realm with Davey, one that I’d never tried to navigate before and one I’d hope I’d never have to go down. I yelled at him on Wednesday, not once, not twice, but three times for stupid petty little things. Maybe I should go back to work!

Henry refused to be anywhere except in my arms. Davey refused to have Henry anywhere except AWAY from my arms and the darn dog nearly caused me to break my neck multiple times because she needed her share of attention too and was constantly under my feet. Why must everyone be so needy all at the same time????? Is this really the life I chose for myself?

Well, yes, it is. Wednesday was only two short days ago, but I’ve managed to FINALLY move past the stomach flu, although I’ve entered the allergy continuum. I’ve managed to get some sleep, not spend nights hugging a toilet. I’ve managed to actually develop some level of energy which means no more putting Davey in front of the t.v. because I feel too terrible to do anything with him. And putting him in front of the t.v. has only made me feel worse about my parenting duties.

So, I’ve since tabled my grand plan to walk back into Corporate America like the less scarier version of Joan Rivers. I’ve since taken a breath and looked at both of my boys and sat in awe of who they are. I’ve since reminded myself that my life is blessed not cursed and I’m on a path that was destined for me, chosen for me, and one that I can and will endure and love even during the bad times, at least until the next time Murphy’s Law decides to knock on my door and knock me off my feet.

But you want to really know what has gotten me through? My Bible and the stories of Joseph who was sold into slavery by his brothers and the entire book of Job. And in the words of Gloria Gaynor, “I will survive.”

Real World Multi-Tasking

I’m a little late on this post, but seeing as how the photo is still circulating through the web and in discussions with some of my fellow moms, I figured it was safe to blog about real world multi-tasking and not the type that Gisele Bundchen subscribes to.

Shortly before Christmas, Gisele Bundchen (supermodel and wife of New England Patriots quarterback, Tom Brady) tweeted a picture of herself as she was nursing her daughter. She titled the photo: “Multi-tasking”. Problem is, she wasn’t actually multi-tasking, it was more like she was being multi-tasked on. While nursing her daughter, Gisele had her head flung back so her golden tresses could be styled, and her make up applied, but she didn’t stop there. She had yet a 3rd person who was giving her a manicure. As a side note, let me say kudos for the fact that she is nursing her daughter and not ashamed to show it.

In light of her version of multi-tasking, I decided I would drop her a quick little note that describes a day in the life of a normal, day-to-day stay at home mom who does not have the luxury of having extra personnel to help out with the day. So, Gisele, should you decide to really know what multi-tasking as a mom is all about here’s my past few days with a 27 month old and a 3 week old. Ready? Go!

Multi-tasking is when you’re trying to deal with tech support on your computer, while also nursing your three week old, and paying bills.

Multi-tasking is when you’re nursing your three week old, while also changing the diaper of your 27 month old.

Multi-tasking is when you’re nursing your three week old, cooking dinner, and cleaning up from the disaster the dog left at the trash can.

Multi-tasking is when you’re nursing your three week old and cleaning off crayons from the wall while also making sure that your 27 month old stays in the time out he was placed in for causing you to multi-task this issue.

Multi-tasking is when you’re able to write this blog, while nursing your three week old, and making sure that your 27 month old is happily watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

Multi-tasking is when you’re changing your three week old’s diaper while in the bathroom because you’re also potty training your 27 month old.

Multi-tasking is when you’re able to give your three week old a bottle while also folding clothes.

Multi-tasking is when YOU are the one physically doing multiple tasks, NOT when you’re doing one task while other people complete the rest.

So, Gisele, please think about the rest of us moms who don’t have your millions of dollars before you decide to insult us by throwing out a picture of your supposed “multi-tasking” abilities. Perhaps you could even pull the word up in a dictionary to find out the true meaning in order to use it correctly.

Pregnancy and Its “Beauty”

Pregnancy is a crazy thing. I used to think it was beautiful and I suppose it can be depending on the day. For me, it’s elicited some things that I’m a little embarrassed about, to say the least. Obviously, not so embarrassed that I won’t share with everyone on my blog.

My first pregnancy was basically a piece of cake. I was tired a lot, but other than that things were pretty smooth. I was still working at that point as well, so all I really had to do was go sit at a desk for 8 or 9 hours a day. Not a lot of strenuous work. I actually felt beautiful during that pregnancy. Perhaps it was the fact that the majority of my pregnancy was during the summer and I was able to wear some of the cutest dresses (mostly recycled maxi dresses I was wearing pre-pregnancy). This time around, I’m having to scrounge for clothing and since I’m tall, finding pants with at least a 36 inch inseam is a bit difficult and costly. So, needless to say, I’m not feeling as hip and pretty as the last time around.

There was only one instance that was made me feel less than regal and less than feminine while I was pregnant with Davey. It was on a Thursday morning, about 7:45, and I stood in the lobby of my office, with a gaggle of other co-workers waiting patiently for an elevator to arrive. Once we were all on the elevator and it was moving, I had this uncomfortable sensation that I needed to pass gas. Normally, I would just hold it and trust me I tried, but unfortunately it snuck out. I was at the back of the elevator, as my floor was the very top. I noticed the smell slowly creep out from my back corner like a rolling poisonous fog. It began to consume individual co-workers and I watched as those who were near comatose (because they hadn’t had coffee and were still technically asleep) immediately jolt awake. Some turned around looking to see where the smell was coming from, while turning up their noses. I followed suit with them in the hopes that they didn’t know it was me. As soon as the elevator opened (not on my floor by the way), they all fell out like a bag of dominoes leaving me alone. They had to know it was me. How embarrassing.

Flash forward two and a half years and I have yet another less than ladylike moment. The only reprieve I have from this was the fact that it happened in the privacy of my own home.

Last week, I took a nap while my son was napping (might as well get in some sleep now, because it’s going to be a while before it happens again). When I awoke, Henry was treating my bladder as if it were punching bag, so I immediately took off to the bathroom. I emptied my bladder, quickly feeling like I lost 20 pounds, before walking back into the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water. Now here’s where the craziness commences. While pouring myself a glass of water at the sink, I start to feel something warm running down my leggings. What was this? I didn’t have a sensation of needing to pee. Henry wasn’t even moving around. Was this my water breaking? I look down to see just a couple of drops of water drip onto the floor from my legs.

Immediately I take off to the bathroom. I sit down on the toilet and try to pee again, but nothing! I call the doctor, go into in depth detail about what had just occurred. I answered a few questions that I found to be a bit embarrassing and then listened as the doctor told me I basically just peed on myself. Are you kidding me? I’m 38 years old, not 98! I’ve never had a bladder issue. The last time I peed on myself was when I was potting training 36 years ago.

I was mortified. I even told the doctor that. He proceeded to gracefully chuckle and tell me it’s a common occurrence and at least it didn’t happen while I was in public. True! It could have been worse, but the fact that pregnancy (particularly this one) is causing me to loose control of my bodily functions is making me feel less than beautiful.

Just this morning, after immediately peeing, I stayed seated on the toilet for a couple of seconds. There was no rush, so why not wait to see if anymore trickled out? When I figured I was in the clear, I walked out of the toilet. My son was standing at the vanity brushing his teeth. He turns around to face me right at the time I feel a sneeze coming on. When said sneeze hit, so did my newfound propensity to need to pee. In front of my son, whom I’m trying to potty train, I peed on myself. My son takes the toothbrush from his mouth while looking down at the pee on the floor and says to me, “oh no, Mama. Big boys pee pee in the potty.” He then points at the toilet before turning around to continue to brush his teeth.

And so goes the final few weeks of my pregnancy. I’m really looking forward to this one being over.

Have a Little Faith

Such a simple, simple phrase. How many of us hear this every day? How many of us repeat this to ourselves every day? Our personal mantra. Well, for the next eight weeks, I’ll be saying this to myself over and over.

Last night I did something that in theory seemed like a good idea. At the point I conceived the idea (nearly three weeks ago), it seemed like a good idea. I had grand visions in my head, selfless AND selfish acts. I was (and still am) going to do what is best, or what I feel is best for everyone except me, so I booked a flight for my husband and two year old son to fly to Rochester, NY WITHOUT me.

Henry’s actual due date is December 20th, but since I am having a scheduled C-section, the actual date of birth will be Friday, December 13th (dun, dun, dun). That being said, it almost seemed like Davey’s grandparents and aunt would not be able to see him this year for Christmas. Normally, we fly up the first week of December since my husband is a shareholder with his company, which is headquartered out of Rochester.

The first Friday of December is his annual shareholder’s meeting and company Christmas party, so we try to make a week of it in Rochester since Davey was born so that my husband’s side of the family will get some time during the holidays with Davey. This year, thanks to Henry’s impending birth, we didn’t think that was possible. However, I thought long and hard about it and felt that my husband and son should still try to fly up at least for a few days. That means I will have four days all to myself.

It started out as a selfless act, but then evolved into something more. What a break! Four days! How sweet, wonderful, and enticing. Immediately, I decided I would coerce my husband into doing this. It was all such a fabulous plan until I booked their tickets last night.

What was I thinking? Four days ALONE???? I haven’t had even ONE day alone in over two years. My body and mind has adjusted to this. How will I survive? My sister-in-law tells me to schedule a day at the spa. Great idea, the only problem is that requires money and since I’m a stay at home mom, we’re not exactly rolling in any sort of extra cash.

I could read some books! That would be awesome, considering the only books I get to read these days are “Three Billy Goats Gruff” and “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day”. I could get caught up on some of my writing! That sounds great as well especially since I don’t seem to have time for too much of that anymore between potty training, the croup, and my other “volunteer” activities I do to keep my resume still active for the day I decide to go back to work.

Hey, I could sleep in! Might as well try to bank some hours seeing as how a week later we’ll be adding a newborn into the fold. Too bad you can’t really bank sleep hours.

I could watch old movies or adult television, anything other than Disney movies. There’s so much I could really do with my four days of being baby and husband free. No cooking dinners, no laundry to do, nothing! It’s all great, but it’s still not easing my mind or my incessant need to worry. So, what’s eclipsing all of these fabulous opportunities I’ll have at my disposable? My narcissitic personality and need to be in control.

I awoke this morning and told my husband I could never forgive him if he lost our son at the airport while they were sitting through a lay over! Can you believe I said that? The only thoughts swirling through my head are the two days of travel for my boys. How will my husband handle flying solo with Davey? He’s NEVER done it. Heck, I’ve never done it either, but for some reason I have a lot of faith that I can handle it. I’ll say out loud that I have the faith in my husband. He would NEVER let something happen to Davey. He would sacrifice himself before he let something happen, but what if the unthinkable still happens.

Davey’s fast, insanely fast! What if he breaks free of my husband’s grasp and my husband chases him only to catch him and then tweak his lower back when trying to pick Davey up? What then? How will he survive? What if Davey walks into one of the many shops and starts pulling items off the shelves and onto the floor when my husband isn’t watching? What if he tries to grab something in one of the shops and runs without paying? Will security and police be called? Will my child play the game of “this isn’t my daddy?” with the police? What if he won’t sleep on the plane and starts kicking the seat in front of him and the person becomes angry, which then angers my husband and they get into a shouting match and Davey and my husband are forced to leave the plane? All of these “what if” scenarios are killing me and I’m still eight weeks away from the actual travel. Can you imagine how I’ll be when I drop them off at the airport?

It’s not that I’m a super mom, but I just know it’s easier to have the “tag team” effect when travelling with a toddler. It’s not that I don’t have faith in my husband. It’s not that I could necessarily PREVENT any of these things from happening should I be travelling with them. It’s just that with me the whole out of sight, out of mind phrase doesn’t work. I’ll be a nervous wreck. I’m already a nervous wreck. Geez!

My husband says to me this morning, “I’m insulted and I’m hurt that you think I would let something happen to our son.” I don’t think he would LET it happen, but sometimes it’s really hard with Davey. Until then and even on those days, I’ll just start working on faith, having a little more of it, and saying my prayers for all of us.

As a side note, my husband is thinking of getting a leash for Davey just for those days of travel. I’m totally against this, but if it will help him keep track of Davey, then I’ll concede. As long as my husband never puts the leash on Davey while around me.

Mommy Has Poopy Hair

It’s glamorous being a mom, regardless as to whether you’re a stay-at-home mom or one who is working outside the home. Things change a lot. For example, before I became a mom I would have NEVER considered walking out of my house without make up on and my hair styled. These days? I really don’t care, or perhaps I’m just too tired, or maybe just maybe my child has beaten me down.

I know you all love hearing about my adventures in potty training Davey. It’s been an on and off affair, but I’ve stuck with it for THREE DAYS this time. I’m determined. I’m going to get this down and Davey will be potty trained. I’ve picked up on his little cues. For example, he likes to hide and squat when he needs to poop. And when he needs to pee? Well, he starts holding his little “man part” as if he’s trying to pinch it off. I’ve got this! I know when he needs to potty and when he’s actually pottying.

I’ve bought stickers as rewards, given him super awesome underwear (Cars themed, his favorite), and I’ve even created a song to help him go potty. Thankfully for all of you, you don’t have to listen to my caterwauling as I sing to Davey. It remains to be seen if he really enjoys my singing or if he just tries to potty in order to get me to shut up. I don’t care which one it is, as long as he potties.

Lately, he’s hit a defiant state with me and not just on the potty training issue, but with everything. Naturally, it makes the potty training a lot more difficult, but I gotta tell you…Wanna know where I find solace and the encouragement for patience (a virtue I never thought I would learn)? It’s not on the other mommy blogs or from other moms who’ve been in my shoes. It’s from the Bible. So, every morning I say a little prayer for strength, patience and sanity and I begin my trek down Potty Training Avenue.

This morning, I read my Bible and said my prayer. The Lord doesn’t always answer in the ways we hope, but He does answer. Thankfully for me, He answered because after this morning’s fiasco I was about to pull the “Old Amy” response of saying a word or two that wasn’t exactly appropriate for my son to hear.

Davey is sitting at the kitchen table, alongside me, eating his breakfast and listening to today’s Bible lesson (he loves to be read to). After breakfast, I get him down from the chair only to immediately notice the all too knowing sign of a poop. As a side note, why does a child’s poop smell worse than an adult’s? So, I ask, “Davey, did you poop your pants?” I get, “Oh no, Mama.” I ask, “Davey are you telling mommy the truth or are you fibbing?” He replies, “I fib.”

I take him to the bathroom because my intent is to take his poopy underwear and dump the poop into the potty and explain (AGAIN) that this is where poop belongs. What I wasn’t exactly expecting was the fact that it wasn’t just your typical poop. It had eased up his back and saturated his underwear and pants. Sigh! I said a quick prayer. This is the reason I use disposable diapers instead of cloth. I have absolutely NO DESIRE to scrub poop. I just want to trash/flush it and be done!

Gently I take off his shirt, careful to make sure that no poop gets in his hair, a feat which I found to be successful. Next, I took a little toilet paper and wiped off his back before beginning to navigate his pants and underwear. I don’t know where I went wrong. Perhaps it was underestimating the movements of my child because as I started sliding down his pants and then his underwear, Davey decides he wants to immediately step out of the poop infested arena. So, he jerks up his left foot, gets his heel caught in the poop of the underwear, and then shoves down his foot thereby squishing poop everywhere. I try to steady him and bite my tongue, saying yet again another prayer to God, as this thought starts swirling through my head: I gave up a paying job for this crap (literally and figuratively)? At least when I was in the corporate world and people treated me like poop, or even thought about rubbing my face in it (which I’m sure quite a few of my customers desired), I was paid. I don’t get paid squat for this.

So, I stood Davey back up as he reached down to wipe the poop from his foot. “Davey, no!” I screamed, but too late. He then wiped the poop on his leg, started crying and with his hand smothered in poop says, “Mama, clean pleeeeaaassseee,” all the while wrapping his arms around my neck and then stroking my hair with said poop hand. Not only is my child now covered in poop, but it’s also in my hair. Again, Sigh! And thank you, Lord, for allowing me to take it in stride.

I’m still determined on this potty training thing. If anything it’s becoming a battle of the wills and I always win. Trust me, I will kill myself, but I always win. I will succeed. In the meantime, I am forced to endure a song entitled, “Mommy has poopy hair and Dixie has a pee pee mouth”. It was adorable the first thousand times I heard it today. Now? I’m ready to gauge out my eardrums. And as for the really cool Cars underwear? It was thrown in the trash. Davey has 40 pairs, being short one doesn’t bother me especially if I don’t have to clean the poop.

That’s all for today in Potty Training Land. Stay tuned for more shenanigans to come…COUNT ON ‘EM.

Dixie Has a Pee Pee Mouth

I’ve blogged frequently about my attempts to potty train Davey. I thought he was ready back around Easter. If you’ll remember correctly, that’s when he pulled his pants down at my parent’s house and pooped on their hardwood floors.

I thought he was ready at the start of the summer when he would pull his pants down and sit on the potty, but alas nothing happened. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had the occasional “Mission Accomplished” moment, but those have been fleeting and nothing more than a coincidence.

Well, as the days keep ticking by and we get closer and closer to the arrival of Henry, I’m finding myself under new pressure to get Davey potty trained ASAP! You wonder why. Well, I’ve been told that I don’t want to have 2 babies in diapers (although I know quite a few moms who have 2 babies this way). I’ve also been told that I won’t have the time to devote to potty training Davey once Henry gets here. I’ll have to wait a few months to get Henry on his routine before I try to get Davey on a routine. And I’ve been told that Davey may not take well to being potty trained when Henry gets here. In other words, I should have his routine set before baby Henry’s arrival.

Most recently, I attempted a new approach with potty training Davey. I went the “cold turkey” way which is putting him in underwear, not training pants. That morning he went through 3 pairs of underwear. The first set was an accident. He peed in his underwear, didn’t like the feeling, and immediately sat down on the potty. Of course, it was too late at that moment, but he understood the point. Shortly there after, he ran up to me, holding his crotch and crossing his legs while telling me had to potty! Success! He was holding it.

I took him to his potty, helped him pull down his underwear and just barely made it with putting him on the potty before he started peeing! How exciting! How awesome! What a big boy I had! All of this I shared with him happily as he continued to pee in the potty.

During my excitement I had become oblivious to the fact that Dixie, our dog, was standing just behind me. Perhaps I should have noticed that sooner and put her in another room because faster than I can blink my eyes, my son stood up and continued to pee while stating, “I pee like Dada.” And before I could stop him, Dixie was standing in front of him licking up his pee!

At first my voice was broken! I was speechless. Then I began to yell at Dixie, “what kind of person drinks another person’s pee?!?!?!” But of course she’s not a person, she’s a dog and it’s not quite so unusual for them. So, as I’m screaming at Dixie, tears start falling down my face (not sure if it was frustration, anger, shock, or just exhaustion since I hadn’t slept any and was fighting my allergies). Davey looks at me and starts crying as well and says to me, “no more potty, Mama.”

And that was the end of that potty training. Have I tried it since then? Yep. Have I had any progress? Nope. I think my yelling and crying perhaps startled him, traumatizing him from moving forward with potty training. He does; however, like to inform me on a regular basis that Dixie has a pee pee mouth. Right he is.

This week, my in-laws are visiting for Davey’s 2nd birthday. My husband’s grandmother, Davey’s great grandmother, also made the trip, and she’s taking it upon herself to try her hand at potty training Davey. I’m relieved. It would be nice to have someone else teach him and for me to just take over. We’ll see what becomes of it.

Potty Training: Take 2

So, I started out strong back in March (or so I thought) when it came to potty training Davey. He had just turned 18 months old and seemed to exhibit some signs of it being time to start the potty training process. I don’t want to say I was wrong with that, but perhaps I overestimated Davey’s willingness and underestimated his stubbornness.

Of course, then I found out I was pregnant and I’ve since suffered from debilitating migraines and near constant nausea. Potty training quickly took a back seat, as did most everything else. I still did my best to hold my resolve strong that the two things I wanted and needed and would (will) accomplish before Doser 2.0 gets here are: 1. getting Davey into a toddler bed and 2. getting him potty trained.

At first, I thought the toddler bed would be a bigger issue, but fortunately for us this child has slept every single night for 10 + hours in his toddler bed WITHOUT getting up. Some mornings he gets up, grabs a book, and then climbs back in bed and actually lets us sleep until about 7. That’s huge! So, toddler bed transition was pretty flawless, not so much the case with potty training.

I’ve read all the blogs, magazine articles, Twitter tips and Facebook posts about knowing WHEN your child is ready to be potty trained. For those of you who are unsure, here are just a few samples:
1. has “dry” periods of at least two hours or during naps, which shows that his bladder muscles are developed enough to hold urine (some nights, Davey can make it all the way through without a wet diaper!)
2. urinates a fair amount at one time.
3. can pull his pants up and down.
4. shows interest in others’ bathroom habits (he’s always following his daddy into the bathroom and even me).
5. takes pride in his accomplishments.
6. demonstrates a desire for independence (oh, he’s done that from day one!)
7. gives a physical or verbal sign when he’s having a bowel movement (Davey squats behind the chair and grunts).
These are all just ways to know if your child is ready to begin potty training.

Well, at nearly 21 months, I’ve decided to give it yet another go. Once again, I re-read some blogs, pinned some interesting tips on Pinterest and even bought the book “Toilet Training in Less Than a Day” by Nathan H. Azrin. The book hasn’t worked for me, but I’m not exactly following it verbatim.

Today, I decided to take the approach of one of my other mom friends who suggested that I just let Davey go naked. When I told my husband I was going to do this, he said to not do it when he was around. So, I waited until this morning to start the new potty training agenda. I stripped Davey down, put him on our porch, brought the potty along for the ride and we hung out on the porch all morning. There were no poops, but two pees (both of which did not make it to the potty in time). I purposely did this on the porch because I knew it would be easier to clean. I just kept a squirt bottle of Clorox and water on hand to clean the messes.

Lunchtime rolled around and there was a poopy, but Davey didn’t show the signs (and by this point I had put a pair of training pants on him since I was bringing him into the house to eat lunch) and he pooped in his pants. I put him down for a nap, with a clean diaper, and he slept for 3 hours with no accidents. This evening, after dinner; however was our true breakthrough.

After eating, I put him down from his highchair and let him run around. Within a matter of minutes, he ran to his potty and sat down. I pulled him back up quickly unsnapped the onesie he was wearing (probably not a good idea), helped him pull down his training pants and put him back on the potty. As I took a step back, he began to pee. Most of it landed in the potty, but he did accidentally spray the floor, it’s to be expected. But I suppose the best part for me was after he finished peeing he put both hands in the air and yelled, “I did it!”

Yes, you did, my boy. Of course, as I’m writing this, I hear my husband groan because Davey pooped in his pants and not on the potty. Maybe that’s my fault for being in here writing and leaving the potty training to my husband. 🙂

Potty Training 101

It was literally a scene from an old 80s movie and one of my all time favorites. I stood there for a moment in disbelief at what had just occurred, but the realization hit me. This wasn’t a candy bar it was indeed, “doody!” to quote the words from Caddyshack.

As most of you are aware, at least if you follow me on Facebook, I am potty training Davey. I’m not going into it as hardcore as I have been with other things. He’s 18 months old and doesn’t completely comprehend the whole using the potty scenario, but in light of recent events including the previously blogged about episode of pooping on my parent’s floor, I decided to give it a go. Hey, should he become potty trained before I have my next child, then rock on!

Davey’s really good at understanding when I ask him if he needs to go potty. He can’t say the word, but he will point to the bathroom door and pull down his pants and training pants before sitting on the potty. He’s even managed to poop one time in the potty. Of course that was two weeks ago and since that point, I haven’t even gotten a drop of a tinkle out of him.

I ask him every so often if he needs to go potty and he’ll run to the bathroom, but won’t give me a deposit. When I see him start to squat as if to poop, then I immediately take him into the bathroom. One of two things usually occurs. A- he’s already pooped and I’ve missed the opportunity to get him on the toilet or B- he sucks it back in and saves it for a later time when I’m not watching him squat. It’s frustrating, but I also know it’s not going to be an easy process.

At night, before putting him in his bathtub, I always ask him if he needs potty. And most every night, he points at the potty, sits on, smiles, grabs a book, or kicks his feet around. A few minutes later, he gets up and the potty is dry. Last week, I did the exact same routine with him. I explained the importance of the potty and asked him if he needed to go. He shook his head “no”, so I put him in the bath.

Davey’s not much of one to sit, not even in the bath. He’s constantly moving and standing and I’m constantly spending my night getting drenched as I sit him down in the water. Some nights, I actually just let him stand. I’m right beside him, so I’ll catch him should something happen.

Last week, Davey was standing as he normally does, but this time he threw down his toys and just stood there for a minute. I looked at him and could see that he was contemplating something. He pointed at me and grunted, but I’m not much for really understanding my son’s grunts. Little did I know, that he wasn’t really pointing at me, but was instead pointing at the toilet, which I was using as a chair while watching him take a bath.

After a few seconds of telling him “mommy doesn’t understand what you’re saying”, I watched as he appeared to be holding his breath and his face became red. His knees started bending slowly and before it registered with me that he was trying to push a poop out, one actually came out into the water!

I was horrified!

“Davey, stop!” I screamed as I jerked him from the tub and flipped up the toilet lid and plunked him down on it.

He began crying and holding tightly to my neck. Poor little guy, I guess he thought he was going to fall in. I kept him there for a few moments hoping that if he had another poop then it would come out now, but nothing else came.

I cleaned him up and then stared down at the bathwater. There was what looked like a little Baby Ruth just floating around. I almost wanted to leave it. How was I going to get this out? I couldn’t let it run down the drain, could it? So I grabbed some toilet paper, moaned for a few seconds before reaching into the bathwater to pull out the doody. Davey just looked at me smiling. I had to take him into our bathroom to give him a bath.

I’ve been told this is a normal occurrence for little boys especially when trying to potty train them. I hope it’s a normal ONE TIME occurrence, as I’m definitely not interested in cleaning poopy out of bath water. No one told me it would be like this! 🙂