Potty-Training

When you’re potty training a child, you will pretty much try anything that sounds legitimate…and in those very desperate moments, even some things that don’t; which is exactly how this story happened.

As Preston got closer and closer to three years old, Albert and I got more and more frustrated about the potty training thing. We had #1 pretty much under control, but we could NOT get him to #2. (I know, these are things you love to hear.)
One night, my sister and her husband joined us for dinner at our house. My sister had been telling me for weeks about her a co-worker that potty trained her son by keeping his diaper off until he would finally go in the potty. Apparently, kids won’t poop into thin air. I was vehemently denying the use of this method. I was the mother, which also meant I was the one that got to clean up that idea when it failed…and it WOULD fail. So, after dinner, I took Preston to the restroom and left Albert to entertain our guests for what I knew would be an eternity of making Preston sit on the toilet until he pooped. I knew he had to, I knew eventually it had to happen, and we were trying the “wait it out” method. You know, the one where you sit in the bathroom floor with them for hours on end with the theory that, eventually, it WILL happen; unless, apparently, your child is Preston.
After an eternity (probably about 10 minutes) of waiting on the bathroom floor for nothing, my sister decides to get involved and start pushing her theory again. (I see now where she was coming from; catch me while I’m weak.)
The idea is this: When you know your kid has to go to the bathroom (read: poop), you take his diaper off. And leave it off. Apparently, your kid will cry and ask for the diaper so that they can go potty where it’s comfortable for them, but you’re supposed to resist until they eventually concede and use the toilet. Parenting eventually becomes a battle of wills, so the whole “force them to concede” idea sounded legitimate; however, I was skeptical because we’re talking about the kid that figured out how to manipulate the time out system (more on that later). So, I came up with a solution…if Steph wanted to be the one to clean up the mess when it happened, I would let her try her method. She agreed.
So, Preston’s diaper came off, and he came off the toilet. The boys were a little freaked, because he was running around the house with his package hanging out and swinging everywhere. It was cracking me up because all I could think about was the time I had mice (long story, completely unrelated to this) and it seemed like every time they did it (which was all the time) the boys nuts got bigger and bigger until they would drag the ground, or your arm. Anyway, I probably could have got him a longer shirt, but I was too busy laughing at the idea of this whole situation, and my sisters continual insistence that he would NOT poop into thin air.
I should digress for a minute to explain “continual insistence.” She spent the better part of 20 minutes repeating over and over, “A kid will NOT shit into thin air, it’s impossible. People can not DO that. You can’t just stand there and take a dump! It will NOT happen, he WILL have to go to the toilet…its fool-proof.” I spent the better part of 20 minutes laughing hysterically and not saying anything at all. I knew better; I know my child.
So, Preston is running around the house, happy as a clam and free as a bird, literally, when he comes flying through the room and stops dead in his tracks. I know that look. He glances and me, and then my sister, who at this point has STOPPED insisting that he will NOT poop into thin air, and back at me. As I start to yell, “RUN TO THE TOILET!” it happens. A big turd hits the floor, followed by a stream of pee and the most bewildered expression I’ve ever seen him have. (I should mention, before I go on, that I didn’t realize the look on his face until after the following occurred; at which time I felt HORRIBLE mom guilt and was sure my child would be scarred for life.) In the moment, I could do nothing to hold back the belly aching laughter that exploded…actually, no one could; we all hit the floor laughing. 10 seconds into it, I composed myself enough to stand up and go get him. As I walked over to grab his hand and lead him to the bathroom, he looks down and blurts out, “Look at that giant alligator, Mom!”

Ten minutes later, when the laughter had subsided and the mess was clean (by Steph, as promised) I realized that he was probably scared to death when he started pooping into thin air, and he might have thought we were laughing at him. Since you can’t really explain that to a 2 year old, I let it go and we avoided potty training for a few weeks. Later, I was reassured he’d be fine when he told me he, “had to go put the alligators in the toilet this time,” the next time he tried to poop.