Shhh. Can you hear that? Yep, you got it. It’s the angels singing, rejoicing a true miracle hereon Earth.And if you listen real closely you’ll hear a whimsical tinkling, porcelain music to my soul. The sound of my son not peeing his pants.
I feel like this moment has been a long time coming. Potty-training is certainly not for the faint of heart. And, sure, we’ve done this before with Avery (now a 7 year-old) but I can attest that it was a much easier process.
“Avery, stop peeing in your diaper.”
“Okay, mommy.” End of story.
But Jack, oh Jack, has been an entirely different storyline.
“Jack, stop peeing in your diaper.”
“The one you’re wearing…and peeing in.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Mommy, I pooped. Change my diaper.”
We’ve endured countless moments of helplessness watching these encounters, just like the one described above, occur.
And Jack has been one stubborn little muchacho. You might remember, if you’ve been reading my blog for awhile (in which case, thank you) we’ve had some very specific trials and tribulations around building this dude a more familiar relationship with the ‘john’. Quite plainly, he’s been a giant pain in the rear.
Peeing in the toilet was a whiz (pun fully intended). Jack discovered quickly that he quite enjoyed letting himself hanging out ‘n about freely. But, as I explained in this postthe other part of the training was not so successful. To be frank, the kid flat refused to poop in the toilet. And I was exhausted trying.
So, for the sake of what little sanity hasn’t yet been sapped from my intellect, I stopped for a little while. Until this happened. Oh, but I was something mad. The sheer cheekiness of this kid motivated me to hit the training with an entirely new strategy. Force him.Jack spent so much time sitting on that pot his buns cheeks took on a semi-permanent oval indentation.
And, with a little resilience,we hit payload (hehehe…load). It finally worked! Which prompted me to post this. And man was I in heaven.Somehow I had convinced myself that Jack’s sudden success was a giant indicator of our future in blissful toilet-directed expelling of bodily fluids and other matter.
I was wrong. Which prompted me to post this. And man, was I no longer in heaven. Like a slap in the face, I was reminded how so much of life is out of my control. Bummer. (It would be a whole lot easier if I had control over everything that happened in this house…easier and more fun. Well, at least more clean. And sanitary.)
But today, folks, I m back with yet another potty-training post. This time,though, my news is optimistic yet realistic. The kid is done. He’s toilet trained. Officially. Jack’s been accident-free for a good two weeks and has apparently discovered the benefits of toilet freedom.
Thank the Lord.
I’m hoping that this will not ultimately be a post in vain. I’m hoping that Jack will continue with this bout ofindependence (well, as independent as being wiped on a daily basis could be) but we are all estaticthat he seems to be moving (bowel moving, that is) in the right direction. I fully assume and expect that he will have setbacks. He may even purposely decide he prefers the diaper to the commode (at which point I’ll explain to him that he’s wrong.) But, we’re on our way.
And the landfill couldn’t be happier.
(End note – in the interest of full disclosure, as I am finishing up this post,Jack has peed his pants. Lovely. But, in the infamous words of Scarlett O’Hara, “After all…tomorrow is another day.” Let’s just hope it’s not a wet one.)