Yesterday I was feeling adventurous, so I decided to take another whirl at potty training my son Maxx. He wasn’t ready before but I thought, what the hell… try, try again. I had just purchased the latest in portable pooping technology and was eager to give it a test run. His initial poo trial on the big people pot was an epic failure but I was confident my brightly colored, plastic potty was going to be a raging success.
In preparation, I emailed his dad at work to tell him that HIS 8-month-old daughter Cat was spitting banana mush all over me. I was gonna go hang out with MY son for a little mother-son potty time after securely transferring her from the high chair to her walker.
I show him his brand new, portable potty chair. “It’s time to learn how to go poopy in the potty Maxx!” I trill. He eyes it uncertainly with wide, blue eyes while clutching his Bear-Bear.
I begin by removing his diaper. No problem there. I’m thinking to myself, “Step one — accomplished. This is gonna be easy.”
He sits on his shiny, new throne. Again, no problem. “I’ve got this.”, I silently congratulate myself. He sits again… and again… and again. Next, Bear-Bear sits on the pot; Maxx sits, then Bear-Bear, and then some toys find their way in. Still nothing; not a nugget nor even a gust of gas.
“Hmmm… this might take a bit longer than I originally anticipated.”, I muse.
I step into the kitchen for a sandwich to fortify myself. I’m feeling confident and prepared for the long haul. I come back into the living room to find that Maxx has pooped on the floor and is standing up on the couch, arms akimbo, letting it rip with a strong stream of pee that’s splashing all over my fluffy, floral cushions. I, being supermom, say calmly and firmly, “SHIT! OH NO! STOP!!!” I grab him mid-pee and sprint to the potty like Wonder Woman running to join the final fight scene of a DC Comic, as he continues to sprinkle and spray.
I plop his bare butt down on the pot.
NOTHING.
I clean up the mess while quietly muttering words of encouragement to myself.
Okay… shit happens, right? No biggie. We start again. Sit on the potty, nothing. Sit Bear-Bear on the pot, still nothing. “No problem, I got this.”, is my refrain of the day. Toys into the potty again. Somehow, from her walker, his sister Cat pulls the potty away from him. He grabs it back and climbs up onto the couch. I put it back on the floor. Continuous questions of, “Do you have to go potty?” “No, mommy.” We try and try again.
“I got this.”, I grimace to myself for what feels like the 100th time.
I step outside to relay the story to my neighbor, maybe get some toilet tips, and have a smoke to calm my slowly fraying nerves.
Maxx comes to the door and happily calls to me, “I poopy Mommy!”
Finally! I roll my eyes at my neighbor smugly, stub out my smoke, and go inside to share his success. Upon entering the living room I am greeted by a scene of apocalyptic poopy proportions.
I screech, “OHMYGOD!”
He had not only decided to go #2 again, but evidently, he also wanted to express himself architecturally. Maxx had taken his plastic toy shovel and shoveled it all over the living room floor into little piles! My little construction dude — hard at work — building a brown town.
I’m exasperated at this point wondering, “Where does all this shit come from? He JUST went!” I mistakenly assumed I was safe for a while.
I thought wrong.
He had also peed again; this time in a massive puddle in front of the TV. It’s like he has a reservoir hidden somewhere inside him.
Clean up time AGAIN. I’m starting to feel frustrated and dejected as I scoop, scour, and scrub the floor. Maxx looks on with what I believe to be an expression of fake innocence while hugging Bear-Bear to his chest. I can’t help but feel the little shitter is smirking inside.
“THAT’S IT!”, I huff.
On goes the diaper, and out comes the phone book. Who to call? Mom of course! Do I get any help from her? Hell no. According to her, we all potty trained ourselves. So much for her memory.
Maxx, in the meantime, is picking at his diaper. He wants it off. Evidently, he enjoyed fanny freedom and errant butt breezes.
“Fat chance you little shitter.” I hiss under my breath.
I take the time to email his dad again. This time I tell him to come home and take HIS son AND his daughter, who is now rustling in the kitchen garbage from the “safety” of her walker.
To add insult to injury, my unsuspecting neighbor kindly drops off a small book on potty training. I wish I had this in the early A.M. before beginning my crap crusade. I wouldn’t have started!
The little gem of a book contained a list of things your child should be doing to indicate readiness for potty training. Maxx had only reached ONE thing on the list!
This Mom learns a valuable lesson — my son will not be going to college in a diaper so maybe I will just let him train himself.
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This post was previously published on Grace Getzen – Connection Creatrix.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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