My Life Has Gone to Sh...aring Parenting Stories

What the hell happened?

It was all going so well. Thanks to Skittles, preschool, and our own diligence, Nate was -- the occasional accident notwithstanding -- essentially potty-trained. Not only was he peeing like clockwork, he was setting higher goals:

"Did you pee?"
"Yeah."
"OK, you're done?"
"No, I want to poop, Daddy."
"OK, then."

And sometimes he'd poop, and sometimes not, but the point is, he was a man with goals. He enjoyed pooping. He'd often accompany his successful efforts with a satisfying grunt or two. Oh, sometimes he'd still argue when you told him to go to the bathroom, but he'd always wind up in there, stripping, doing his business, dressing, and, if you reminded him, washing his hands. We were impressed. His teachers were impressed. Life was good.

Then, four days ago, Nate pooped his pants. No big deal; it's happened before. I cleaned up the mess, encouraged him to to tell me when he had to go, and that was that. Then, the following evening, about 15 minutes after he peed and assured me he didn't have to poop, he darkened his pants again. That ended the show he was watching and landed him in bed, although it was pretty close to bedtime anyway. Hmmm. Two days straight. Trend?

Yup. Next morning, he announced he had to poop, but it was already in his shorts by the time he got to the bathroom. Half-credit, I think. But maybe not, since he had this conversation with Jenn while he sat on the toilet just a half-hour before:

"Do you have to poop?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"You don't have any poops to do?"
"Noooo, Mommy! I don't have to poop!"
"You'll tell Mommy if you have to poop, right?"
"Yeeees."
"You really don't have to poop?"
"No."

And so on. Later that day, I managed to get him to do a little more on the toilet with the promise of Skittles, but on Monday, Nate was back to schizophrenic waste disposal: peeing consistently and impressively, like the Sox bats when they're at Fenway, and pooping like ...well, like a West Coast swing. We were about to head out for the local farmstand for ice cream last night when Nate pulled down his pants to pee, and other activity was already in progress. Ice cream was quickly replaced by a bath, bed, and a grilling from both of us over whether he'd like us to buy him more diapers, take apart the racecar bed, put the crib back up, and move him back to the infant room at school. Yes! Psychological warfare!

I don't think he dislikes potty-pooping; I just think he gets involved in an activity and doesn't want to interrupt it, not realizing that undie-soiling will effectively end it. Whatever the case, Jenn's going away on a work trip for a few days, and she has promised Nate that if he has a good week pooping on the potty, we can make the ice cream run next weekend. As for me, I've gone back to Skittle rewards, and I've already been rewarded with an actual potty poop this morning (after 10 minutes of Nate insisting he didn't have to go, of course). So, here's to a better week. Nate's already more upbeat about the prospects, as the friendly cashier at Barnes & Noble found out this morning when Nate placed the new Nora Roberts (for his mom's trip) on the counter:

"You're a very good helper, aren't you?"
"Yeah. And I did poops!"

Comments

[Dawn]

Ah, I do not miss the potty-training days from my years doing daycare. *Very* nice Sox analogy though! Well done. Skittles for you too! ;-)