Dear Blog
Today I began the first day of my slow, drawn out, utterly painful death. Today I start experiencing the changing in the winds....the few seconds left of the calm before the storm. Life as simple as I knew it was about to rain poop on me. Literally.
Today I started potty training.
Today Boston asked us to use the potty. Today Jeff and I decided to go off diapers cold turkey. Today we took him shopping for big boy underwear. Today we bought paw patrol underwear, pull-ups, flushable wipes, Finding Nemo fruit snacks, Paw Patrol pajamas and several other potty rewards. I wish somewhere in Wal-mart I could have found some extra sanity...an extra dosage of patience, or perhaps an umbrella to shield myself from the storm about to hit.
When Boston asked to use the potty, we knew we had to jump at the opportunity. We've talked about it a lot over the past few months, and even bought him a potty at the beginning of the summer to try and get him to go, but we couldn't even get him to sit on the potty with the lid closed for the longest time. The first few days brought lots of accidents. To be expected of course, and I held my patience pretty well. He even pooped in the potty several times that first week. We found out that leaving him naked (like many blogs suggest) didn't work because he could pee anywhere and not be wet or have to change underwear/do laundry. So we kept him in his underwear, and then when he peed/pooped, he realized and didn't like the wet/dirty underwear. Everytime he went pee in the potty, he got a fruit snack. When he finally went poop in the potty for the first time, he would get his pajamas. He earned everything within a few days, and I was thinking, man, this is too easy!
This is when I started dying inside. He was doing so good, and then all of a sudden he would pee his pants standing practically on his potty. "Stay positive" all the books say. "Show no signs of frustration or anger" all the articles read. I found myself practicing deep breathing. Counting to ten. Biting my tongue so hard I tasted blood. I needed a chill pill. I could probably still use one.
Laundry was piling up. I felt I was in a constant cycle of accident-bath-clean-up-laundry-accident. Boston was responsible for putting his laundry in the washer, and cleaning the carpet/furniture when it happened. Trying to get him to be responsible for these things was an even bigger pain than doing it myself, but I figured it would help him not want to have an accident. My patience was running so thin you could sever it with a cotton ball. Boston was frustrated too, and would ask for rewards after peeing in his pants.
Mom: Boston, you only get a 'memo snack' when you pee in your potty.
Boston:"Mom, I want a fruit snack."
Mom: When you pee in the potty you can have a snack.
Boston:"I want a memo snack. Please, mom, i want a snack. Mom, i want a fruit snack.
Mom: Boston. You can only have a nemo snack when you pee I the potty.
Over and over and over and over....
Then it happened. I was emptying the dishwasher. Boston was standing on his chair asking to watch TV in the same pattern as with the nemo snacks. With each response, I could feel my body temperature rising. Patience Megan. Patience. Count to ten. Deep breaths. No, Boston, we aren't watching tv right now. I can do this, I can! I can survive this. I pull out a couple of our red and white plastic plates as he asks for the billionth time in a row. The plates are in my hand as I snap. I lift the plates up and proceed to slam them on the counter with such force it cause the plates to shatter. The next 10 seconds are slow motion. I can see the pieces of plate flying around Boston as he is standing on his chair at the table. His face has a look of pure terror on it, and he lets out a high pitched scream. We are not watching! I drag him downstairs to his room and we both proceed to have a large meltdown.
Mom of the year award right here!
This wasn't the worst yet. The following 2 weeks were torture. No matter what we did, what rewards were offered, he would not poop in the potty. He had the pee thing down great, but nothing worked. We made a chart that had fabulous prizes on it. Took hi to toys r us to pick out a toy. Nothing. NOTHING! How the heck does anyone stay patient through all this?! Finally, I cracked again and slapped a diaper back on him. If you are going to poop in your pants, you will be treated like a baby. I took away his water bottles and zippy cups and gave him his lemonade in a bottle. He was so mad. 'I not a baby!, I'm a big kid!' This finally got him going. He wanted his underwear back, and his cups.
So now, I'm proud to say that we have gone over a week pooping in the potty! Hands down one of the hardest and most trying things I've ever had to do. Ellie will be in diapers in High School.
Here is Boston enjoying some rewards from pooping in the potty.
