After two great weeks of potty training, somehow, somewhere, something shifted and all has gone to ... pot? I wish. Nothing is going to pot right now, except the towel Boss has thrown in it, and an occasional matchbox car or Lincoln Log (haha, yes a little irony).
I don't know what happened. The sticker chart was bursting with smiling trains, construction rigs and hot rods. The raisin treats were chomped with fervor. And when Boss went number 1 or 2, we all clapped and hooted like drunks at a square dance. In fact, we had four poops on the potty in the first two weeks. We were jubilant; perhaps even smug, since going 2 is notoriously more challenging than 1. Then little by little, the pee stream dried up and the poop plopped only in the pants. Sigh.
Maybe the turd factor is to blame, who knows. Instead of Boss's “normal” mudslides, potty training quickly turned his scat into those firm brown torpedoes most people have. It was a welcome change, but a result of him withholding a movement for a day. (A tradeoff I was willing to live with.) Then, when he had to go, he'd crouch over like Igor, scrunch his brow in concentration, and run circles around the family room like a dog bedding down for the night. It was video-worthy, but I was too busy sweating about the impending poop to film it. (Plus, me use the video camera? Hahahaha!)
I considered chasing him around with the potty, but that may have pressured him just a little. A few times we headed outside when poop was imminent, and decorated our beautiful new pavers with “pine cones.” I'm sure that's what the mailman thought they were anyway.
Soon after poop in the pot ceased, the pee ended, too. Were pull-ups to blame? Maybe they contributed, but when I switched back to big boy pants (what we started with), the pee streamed out again and again, down his leg and onto the carpet. Then he began withholding that as well, demanding to go to his “big-boy bed” where he knew he'd nap with a diaper. Oh he's a sly one, that Boss.
Now nap times are dangerously close to ending since he holds his pee AND poop until hitting the hay, and who wants to sleep on a wet dung heap? The boy has standards, you know.
I'm doing my best to swallow all signs of frustration as we figure out what to do next—and not to do. One expert says it could be a privacy thing and to move the potty to the bathroom. Another says let him pee his pants, but make sure he does it next to or in the potty and then helps to clean up and put fresh underwear on. I'm looking for another who says take a break. But truthfully, while I relish that thought, I also want to forge on and get him going (ahem) before preschool starts.
The countdown to mid-September continues, as does Boss's resistance ... Now what was that about no pressure?!
(Little disclaimer: Boss didn't really poop in that basket, thank God. Can you imagine?!)
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