The journey of the toileting toddler...

disclaimer to young moms - read ahead with awareness that not all families have multiple problems in this area. We are blessed, some would say. I personally feel cursed.

Timothy, before August, was never attached, really, to anything. Then Grandma and Grandpa brought mommy's Curious George to Alaska. Timothy's new best friend was Curious George, and George has gone everywhere that Timothy was going! Well, this week, Timothy found a new "attachment". Scott started working with him on our phone numbers and address this week - just because the teachable moment seemed to be there. He's mastered 'em, and not only that, but when I wrote them down, he was so pleased that they are now his "replacement" for Curious George. George is still on the bed, or nearby, but he needs George [i]and[/i] his phone numbers.

Let me start on Friday. He had so much urine in him that the pullup did not hold it. I was so mad. I asked him, as I frequently do, "Timothy, where do we go potty?" "In the toilet," he answered. He was wet from waist to ankle. A kind mom from Hannah's class happened to have two extra pairs of pants in her car - in the give away box. The child in the class is a girl, but they found a pair of black legging-ish pants and some Land's End Jeans. We went for the jeans. Mommy was NOT happy. I felt like an evil mommy for making him walk into the school in the wet pants, especially with how cold it was, but I also refused to carry him. He thanked me by screaming all the way to the reasonably sized toilet in the teacher's lounge.

About three hours later, he deliberately went poop in his pants. While I was watching. I was LIVID. "What are you doing?" I tried not to break my teeth while gritting them. He pointed to his bottom. I pointed (forcefully) to the bathroom. He stood up and went there. This time, I made him take the poop, with toilet paper, and put it into the toilet. (and tried, personally, not to retch on him or the floor in my own nauseousness!) The next part of the conversation went as follows - "Timothy, where do we go potty and poop?" "In the toilet." "Where did you go poop?" "In my pants." "Timothy, you're going to get a spank this time." "On my hand." "No, your hand is not what decided to not go poop in the toilet." He giggled, and 'accepted' his swat.

Today. ugh. I had about 7 hours of very interrupted sleep followed by driving to Eagle River and sitting at a craft bazaar till this afternoon. When I arrived home, I was greeted by a warm hug from my husband and a nice dinner... which was interrupted by a child who needed me to hold her hand in the bathroom. She ended up [i]asking[/i] for a suppository (EEEEEEWWWWW!) I was willing to comply, and did, screaming internally as I did. We had a pleasant conversation and I only made her wait five minutes before encouraging her to sit down again (not that I felt like going back to my dinner anymore, but I was famished!!!) I get back to the table, finally, and am greeted by a little boy pretending to burp. I don't know why. Body noises are rampant at our house, currently. Then he said, "Say Eeeeewww, mommy. Tell me I stink." I looked at him with my eyes above my glasses. "You didn't!" "Yes, I went poop in my pants." "Then I'm going to cry," I said, and literally thought the tears would roll! "And I will hold my ears while you cry!" "Timothy, I will cry quietly. I'm very sad and mad that you chose to go poop in your pants again." He covered his ears, then went to his room. I followed him and told him that he would be losing his numbers [b][i]and[/i][/i] George, and that he would not get George back until after school on Monday. I took his arm, and led him to the bathroom, put the pullup in the diaper pail and went downstairs to trade places with daddy (who was now reading a bedtime story to Hannah.) He encouraged me not to trade, but that he would take care of Timothy in a minute.

I walked back upstairs and went into the bathroom. Timothy reminded me that I said he'd get George back since he'd gone potty. I told him today was Saturday, tomorrow was Sunday, and the day after [i]that[/i] was when he'd get George back. If, and I mean if, he goes to the bathroom tomorrow, he might earn the numbers back. Timothy said he wanted a hand spank instead of a bottom spank (and I'm normally not a spanker at all!), and his hand got sad for not getting spanked. (of all things!!!!) Then he went in our room to ask for George. About that time, Scott came upstairs, and heard mommy say something about not getting George or his numbers back. Scott's lips did an "o" and he said "mommy's MAD!" He agreed with me, though, and I feel like an evil minion for depriving my child of a stupid piece of paper and his favorite animal, but what am I supposed to do here!?!?!?!?! He does NOT mind being wet, he [i]does[i/] supposedly understand the process, but there's a real disconnect here, and I'm tired of this. grrrr. I am really not wanting this in the midst of everything else, right now, but it's where we are. I just needed to vent, and am glad I can.

end of diatribe (for now)