The Poop Saga Continues
Yes, you read me right. It's been another couple months since I first blogged the shit and piss storm that is our attempt to potty train our daughter, and things have not yet resolved.
Or maybe they have. We had a breakthrough this evening. But I'll get to that.
Okay, so there have been steps in the right direction. We put Roo back in pull-ups and after a couple of weeks of a carefully calibrated combination of a. pretending we didn't care where the hell she peed, and b. giving her stickers on a chart that added up to gummy worms every time she did pee, she started keeping the pull-ups dry again. But she resolutely refused to poop in the potty. And we tried to pretend we didn't care. But that was hard. Too hard. Both my Old Man and I found ourselves encouraging and cajoling and remonstrating.
And pretty soon, it wasn't just that she wouldn't poop in the potty. Now she just wouldn't poop. At all. She just held it.
Now, no one can hold it forever. But she held it as long as she could. And finally it would come out at some time when she was relaxed and caught off her guard. Where and when is Roo relaxed and off her guard? Two places: when she's in a deep sleep and when she's in the middle of a warm bath.
Cue the bone-chilling theremin music.
Yes, it soon came to pass that my Old Man and I were alternately getting up in the middle of the fucking night to change poopy diapers. Or fishing turds out of our toddler's bath water.
Yes! I know it's horrible! It's a fucking nightmare.
So now we're afraid to bathe the poor girl, and we go to bed each night with the uneasy feeling that we'll be woken mid-REM to deal not just with a poopy diaper, but with the big-ass poopy diaper of a small child who's been holding it for three days.
Desperate measures were called for. We had tried coaxing. We had tried incentive programs: Dora undies, promises of double scooped ice cream cones. Now it was time to try tough love.
We finally told Roo that she would not get dessert 'til she pooped in the potty. That we would sit at the table and eat dessert without her until such time as she pooped in the damn potty. (I am not proud of this measure.) We knew she was capable! She'd done it for three weeks straight back in early summer! And we were desperate. Desperate.
Okay, I know I said I'd tell you about tonight's breakthrough, but I'm getting too worked up remembering the middle-of-the-night and middle-of-the-bath horrors. I need to go watch a Jane Austen movie for a bit, escape to a world where no one poops.
I'll be back to tell the rest soon.
Or maybe they have. We had a breakthrough this evening. But I'll get to that.
Okay, so there have been steps in the right direction. We put Roo back in pull-ups and after a couple of weeks of a carefully calibrated combination of a. pretending we didn't care where the hell she peed, and b. giving her stickers on a chart that added up to gummy worms every time she did pee, she started keeping the pull-ups dry again. But she resolutely refused to poop in the potty. And we tried to pretend we didn't care. But that was hard. Too hard. Both my Old Man and I found ourselves encouraging and cajoling and remonstrating.
And pretty soon, it wasn't just that she wouldn't poop in the potty. Now she just wouldn't poop. At all. She just held it.
Now, no one can hold it forever. But she held it as long as she could. And finally it would come out at some time when she was relaxed and caught off her guard. Where and when is Roo relaxed and off her guard? Two places: when she's in a deep sleep and when she's in the middle of a warm bath.
Cue the bone-chilling theremin music.
Yes, it soon came to pass that my Old Man and I were alternately getting up in the middle of the fucking night to change poopy diapers. Or fishing turds out of our toddler's bath water.
Yes! I know it's horrible! It's a fucking nightmare.
So now we're afraid to bathe the poor girl, and we go to bed each night with the uneasy feeling that we'll be woken mid-REM to deal not just with a poopy diaper, but with the big-ass poopy diaper of a small child who's been holding it for three days.
Desperate measures were called for. We had tried coaxing. We had tried incentive programs: Dora undies, promises of double scooped ice cream cones. Now it was time to try tough love.
We finally told Roo that she would not get dessert 'til she pooped in the potty. That we would sit at the table and eat dessert without her until such time as she pooped in the damn potty. (I am not proud of this measure.) We knew she was capable! She'd done it for three weeks straight back in early summer! And we were desperate. Desperate.
Okay, I know I said I'd tell you about tonight's breakthrough, but I'm getting too worked up remembering the middle-of-the-night and middle-of-the-bath horrors. I need to go watch a Jane Austen movie for a bit, escape to a world where no one poops.
I'll be back to tell the rest soon.
posted by E. | 7:27 PM
4 Comments:
The sick, dark part of me hopes that Roo saw the big bowl of chocolate pudding in the fridge that was to be dessert that evening, and filled the bowl with her own shit in a masterstroke of brilliant frat-house prankery.
How long is this Jane Austen movie? You are good at cliff hangers? Have you considered writing for a tv show?
Dang. That sucks. I have a good friend with a little girl (an amazing little girl) who will hold it for two weeks, and wouldn't go in the toilet until she turned five. And man did they try everything under the sun, in every combination, for two years.
So, um, you're not alone?
Seems like most of the kids who do this aren't messed up or stressed or anything, really, they just have a poop hangup. And no dessert really doesn't seem like child abuse to me.
Do you know the fish net solution to bath poop? You know, those green nets for scooping up goldfish? Excellent tool for this problem.
Orange, you are an evil person. But funny.
Anon, am I good at cliff hangers? You tell me. I will fax you my Jane Austen script forthwith in the sincerest hope that it will earn your approbation.
DM, I can't handle poopy diapers 'til she's five. But we have had a breakthrough, so maybe things are headed in a better direction. We don't use a fishnet, but we have a special bowl, and old retired cat water bowl. It's happened that many times: we have a special bowl.
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