I must have worked in a factory in a past life, as I have this uncontrollable urge to hang a sign in our house that reads:
IT'S BEEN [ X ] DAYS SINCE OUR LAST ACCIDENT.
And for our household, that number is 18.
Boom.
So awesome. So exciting. So proud of our little Bear. I'd like to think he is a potty prodigy, but I don't want him to peak too early. (Please excel at something more than peeing and pooping on the potty, my little love. Like...calculus.) It hasn't been the smoothest ride, but it certainly has been an interesting one.
We clogged a toilet. Twice. I guess diapers maybe mash the poo down or something? Because the first time I saw a particularly large Bear bowel movement, resting comfortably, in its full glory, at the bottom in the little potty, my first thought was, "That came out of our child? All of that? Good heavens." The sheer volume is startling. And then, of course, is the smell. Similar to an outhouse, I'm constantly having camping-as-a-child flashbacks. All that is missing is the smell of the bug spray and burnt marshmallows.
Brian had a different reaction the first time Scotty filled the potty. He glanced quickly at the heaping pile, commented, "Those are man-sized turds, my son," and then gave him an affectionate rub on the head. He looked strangely proud. I'm guessing this falls under father-son bonding? I don't get it. But then again, my eyes were watering and I was trying not to gag. So either way, nice work, Scotty. Good to know his digestive track is working.
And speaking of that, let me give everyone a little tip: NEVER feed your toddler brownies. Never. Don't do it. Trust me.
We're at a place now where Scotty just tells me he needs to go. This may happen at the park or at a restaurant (or like yesterday, at the hair-cut place), as he will grab himself and declare loudly, "Make pee-pee!" Subtle.
And just like the timing with a newborn, I guarantee you your child will sit calmly through most of dinner, but the moment the food arrives, he or she will instantly declare, "Need to make pee-pee!" There are many cold-dinner-nights in your future. Scotty loves to do this. I think he likes my exasperated reaction. Brian, of course, refuses to make eye contact during this whole situation and is pretending to be totally engrossed with something on his phone as he shovels food into his mouth frantically. We've had a few terse "You know you can take him to the bathroom, too" exchanges, but Brian's mouth is usually too full to answer me.
I will say, however, that potty-training ranks up there with breast-feeding and child birth, in the sense that people are strangely reactive about it. There seems to be this inherent competition about how can potty train their kid earlier. Personally, I don't care what age a child is potty-trained. It's not a race and it's certainly not a reflection of good or bad parenting. I definitely believe there is a "window" of readiness for the child and it's our job to find - and capitalize - on that window. But aside from that, we're all kind of in this together, you know?
Speaking of reflections, if you really want to know what kind of parent you are, I've figured out that I just need to give Scott a stuffed animal and watch him play with it. He loves to boss them around, giving orders and directions, and it's downright hilarious. Just today, he put Blue Doggie on the potty. I just sat back and watched, wondering how this was going to play out.
Scott: [carefully arranging Blue Doggie so his little bum is over the potty] : Okay Blue Doggie. Let's go potty.
Okay, we're good so far.
Scott: C'mon Blue Doggie. Quit messin' around. Sit on the potty.
Uh-oh.
Scott: No pee-pee? You need to make pee-pee! I told you, make pee-pee!
Yikes.
Scott: No pee-pee. That's okay, Blue Doggie. Let's try again later. Good doggie. [kisses Blue Doggie.]
Okay, whew. We can resist calling Social Services. At least, for now.
IT'S BEEN [ X ] DAYS SINCE OUR LAST ACCIDENT.
And for our household, that number is 18.
Boom.
So awesome. So exciting. So proud of our little Bear. I'd like to think he is a potty prodigy, but I don't want him to peak too early. (Please excel at something more than peeing and pooping on the potty, my little love. Like...calculus.) It hasn't been the smoothest ride, but it certainly has been an interesting one.
We clogged a toilet. Twice. I guess diapers maybe mash the poo down or something? Because the first time I saw a particularly large Bear bowel movement, resting comfortably, in its full glory, at the bottom in the little potty, my first thought was, "That came out of our child? All of that? Good heavens." The sheer volume is startling. And then, of course, is the smell. Similar to an outhouse, I'm constantly having camping-as-a-child flashbacks. All that is missing is the smell of the bug spray and burnt marshmallows.
Brian had a different reaction the first time Scotty filled the potty. He glanced quickly at the heaping pile, commented, "Those are man-sized turds, my son," and then gave him an affectionate rub on the head. He looked strangely proud. I'm guessing this falls under father-son bonding? I don't get it. But then again, my eyes were watering and I was trying not to gag. So either way, nice work, Scotty. Good to know his digestive track is working.
And speaking of that, let me give everyone a little tip: NEVER feed your toddler brownies. Never. Don't do it. Trust me.
We're at a place now where Scotty just tells me he needs to go. This may happen at the park or at a restaurant (or like yesterday, at the hair-cut place), as he will grab himself and declare loudly, "Make pee-pee!" Subtle.
And just like the timing with a newborn, I guarantee you your child will sit calmly through most of dinner, but the moment the food arrives, he or she will instantly declare, "Need to make pee-pee!" There are many cold-dinner-nights in your future. Scotty loves to do this. I think he likes my exasperated reaction. Brian, of course, refuses to make eye contact during this whole situation and is pretending to be totally engrossed with something on his phone as he shovels food into his mouth frantically. We've had a few terse "You know you can take him to the bathroom, too" exchanges, but Brian's mouth is usually too full to answer me.
I will say, however, that potty-training ranks up there with breast-feeding and child birth, in the sense that people are strangely reactive about it. There seems to be this inherent competition about how can potty train their kid earlier. Personally, I don't care what age a child is potty-trained. It's not a race and it's certainly not a reflection of good or bad parenting. I definitely believe there is a "window" of readiness for the child and it's our job to find - and capitalize - on that window. But aside from that, we're all kind of in this together, you know?
Speaking of reflections, if you really want to know what kind of parent you are, I've figured out that I just need to give Scott a stuffed animal and watch him play with it. He loves to boss them around, giving orders and directions, and it's downright hilarious. Just today, he put Blue Doggie on the potty. I just sat back and watched, wondering how this was going to play out.
Scott: [carefully arranging Blue Doggie so his little bum is over the potty] : Okay Blue Doggie. Let's go potty.
Okay, we're good so far.
Scott: C'mon Blue Doggie. Quit messin' around. Sit on the potty.
Uh-oh.
Scott: No pee-pee? You need to make pee-pee! I told you, make pee-pee!
Yikes.
Scott: No pee-pee. That's okay, Blue Doggie. Let's try again later. Good doggie. [kisses Blue Doggie.]
Okay, whew. We can resist calling Social Services. At least, for now.
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