Done with Diaper Duty
Everyone told me that my son Charlie wouldn't be at his Bar-Mitzvah in diapers but I didn't believe them. Now here he is, at four and three quarters, years away from learning his Haftorah and we are officially done with diapers and cleaning soiled underwear! Charlie is our youngest and last child so whenever he hits a milestone we know we've moved on to a new phase of parenthood.
It was a long road. When he was three and a half his pre-school teacher trained him to pee pee on the potty. In her brilliance she tapped in to what he loved most: Spiderman. She would say, "Do three Spiderman pushes," and this would coax out his urine. Before long she had him standing up and really going like a little man. I had promised him that when he did go, Spiderman would call him on the phone, and call he did, in the form of my brother, father of two boys and superhero expert, Uncle Randy. Teacher Cat had succeeded where my husband and I had failed. Did we feel slighted? Did we care that he wouldn't remember Mommy or daddy teaching him how to do this? No, not even a little.
A short time later he was staying dry at night so we were able to stop using pull-ups and only once had to change his sheets in the morning. He gave up nighttime diapers a full year before his sister Tali had, and even she commented on how impressive that was. We were elated, we thought we were home free.
That is of course until he discovered we expected him to go #2 on the potty. We tried to be mellow about the whole thing, "Just sit for a few minutes and look at a book. If nothing comes out it's okay." In the beginning he was happy to sit there but nothing would come out. Then he got it in his head that if he sat on the toilet he would fall in. My mother, who was as anxious as we were for him to master this skill, was with him in the bathroom one day and he said to her, "Ama, if I fall down in there you'll never see me again." Trying to reason with him was futile. Once he made up his mind that this was what would happen, he'd scream in torture when we tried to put him on the potty. I imagined the police knocking on our door, "Yes, we received a call about a little boy screaming in pain and agony." "Oh, that's our son Charlie, he doesn't want to sit on the potty." "Sure," I can hear the officer saying as they hall me away in hand cuffs, "we've heard that before."
For Charlie's fourth birthday we went to the fire station with some of his pals and cousins where we had a fantastic tour that ended with each child sitting on the fire truck and then getting to shoot the water hose. This was followed by lunch and cake at our local park and lots of running around and playing in the sand. Dare you ask? Yes, he wore a pull-up to his party because he still had no interest in going poo poo on the potty and we did not want to clean up an accident at the park!
Summer began and I pulled him out of camp before it started because he was not fully potty trained. Luckily I was able to get him back in to his pre-school summer camp where they knew him and didn't care if he had accidents or went in pull-ups. I was temporarily relieved. I was working that summer and was terrified I'd have nowhere to send Charlie if he wasn't potty trained.
Summer ended and he was still only going #2 in underwear or pull-ups. He never even stopped to say, " I need a pull-up to go poop." If he didn't have one on he'd simply go in his underwear and tell me afterwords. More often than not he'd be five feet away from the bathroom either at home or somewhere else and would still go in his underwear. Richard and I were not happy.
Just before he turned 4 and a half one Shabbat (Sabbath, Saturday) morning while my husband and I were sleeping in we heard a little voice down the hall say, "I pooped on the potty." I thought I was dreaming. The voice repeated, "I pooped on the potty." I jumped out of bed and headed to our children's bathroom. There he was sitting on the potty with the seat up (how did he go from being afraid of falling in to doing that?) smiling at me. He got up and sure enough, he had done it!
I started jumping up and down and screeching in delight at which point he said, "Mommy don't scream." This would become his mantra every time after that when I got excited by potty success. He'd say, "I pooped on the potty, mommy don't scream," all in one breath. Of course when he continued to have accidents for months after that he'd say, "Mom I have a poop in my pants, don't scream." It was a very messy time in motherhood.
We'd promised him that when he went on the potty a few times we'd start planning a trip to Disneyland. We went during his sister Tali's February break. We stayed with some friends near the park. The night we arrived in their home he went in his pants. "Okay," we said, we're in a new place, we didn't show him where the bathroom was, let's relax."
When he had an accident again the next morning we had lost all patience. Richard was cleaning him up and said to him, "You're not going to Disneyland today!" Richard and I had discussed the idea that if Charlie had an accident while we were in the park he'd have to leave with one of us. We'd also discussed that if he had one before we left to go to the park, he wouldn't go. We made one big mistake: We didn't discuss it with him.
Did I mention our friends were a couple of pediatricians as well as parents of two small boys? While I calmed Charlie down from his "I want to go to Disneyland" tantrum, our friend Stacey calmed Richard down. She explained that by not laying it out ahead of time for Charlie, we were being unfair. We settled on telling him that there would be no treats that day and if he had an accident at the park we'd leave AND he wouldn't go the next day. He complied the rest of the trip.
We came home, Richard went back to work and Charlie had another accident on my watch. I remained calm, and said, "It's ok Charlie, you're going to clean it up."
"But Mommy," he said, "It's yucky. I will get it all over me."
"Yes," I responded, "It is yucky," and I handed him some wipes.
I'll spare you the details, but that was Charlie's last accident. I learned that the best way to teach my child a lesson, was to teach him to clean up his own mess.
I don't know if it was Charlie's disgust that finally trained him or if that's just when it clicked for him. I do know that if my son had been able to say to me at some point, "Mommy, I promise, when I'm ready I will just do it and never look back," the last year with my four year old would have been a lot calmer, although just as messy.
The room in the house that was such a sore subject for us for such a long time, is now a complete non-issue. It is simply the room where people bathe, brush their teeth and use the toilet. I almost miss the potty chart that no longer hangs above the toilet where we recorded Charlie's progress with stickers, and comments by his sister. But like Charlie I will never look back and will simply enjoy not cleaning up quite as many messes, at least not in the bathroom.
It was a long road. When he was three and a half his pre-school teacher trained him to pee pee on the potty. In her brilliance she tapped in to what he loved most: Spiderman. She would say, "Do three Spiderman pushes," and this would coax out his urine. Before long she had him standing up and really going like a little man. I had promised him that when he did go, Spiderman would call him on the phone, and call he did, in the form of my brother, father of two boys and superhero expert, Uncle Randy. Teacher Cat had succeeded where my husband and I had failed. Did we feel slighted? Did we care that he wouldn't remember Mommy or daddy teaching him how to do this? No, not even a little.
A short time later he was staying dry at night so we were able to stop using pull-ups and only once had to change his sheets in the morning. He gave up nighttime diapers a full year before his sister Tali had, and even she commented on how impressive that was. We were elated, we thought we were home free.
That is of course until he discovered we expected him to go #2 on the potty. We tried to be mellow about the whole thing, "Just sit for a few minutes and look at a book. If nothing comes out it's okay." In the beginning he was happy to sit there but nothing would come out. Then he got it in his head that if he sat on the toilet he would fall in. My mother, who was as anxious as we were for him to master this skill, was with him in the bathroom one day and he said to her, "Ama, if I fall down in there you'll never see me again." Trying to reason with him was futile. Once he made up his mind that this was what would happen, he'd scream in torture when we tried to put him on the potty. I imagined the police knocking on our door, "Yes, we received a call about a little boy screaming in pain and agony." "Oh, that's our son Charlie, he doesn't want to sit on the potty." "Sure," I can hear the officer saying as they hall me away in hand cuffs, "we've heard that before."
For Charlie's fourth birthday we went to the fire station with some of his pals and cousins where we had a fantastic tour that ended with each child sitting on the fire truck and then getting to shoot the water hose. This was followed by lunch and cake at our local park and lots of running around and playing in the sand. Dare you ask? Yes, he wore a pull-up to his party because he still had no interest in going poo poo on the potty and we did not want to clean up an accident at the park!
Summer began and I pulled him out of camp before it started because he was not fully potty trained. Luckily I was able to get him back in to his pre-school summer camp where they knew him and didn't care if he had accidents or went in pull-ups. I was temporarily relieved. I was working that summer and was terrified I'd have nowhere to send Charlie if he wasn't potty trained.
Summer ended and he was still only going #2 in underwear or pull-ups. He never even stopped to say, " I need a pull-up to go poop." If he didn't have one on he'd simply go in his underwear and tell me afterwords. More often than not he'd be five feet away from the bathroom either at home or somewhere else and would still go in his underwear. Richard and I were not happy.
Just before he turned 4 and a half one Shabbat (Sabbath, Saturday) morning while my husband and I were sleeping in we heard a little voice down the hall say, "I pooped on the potty." I thought I was dreaming. The voice repeated, "I pooped on the potty." I jumped out of bed and headed to our children's bathroom. There he was sitting on the potty with the seat up (how did he go from being afraid of falling in to doing that?) smiling at me. He got up and sure enough, he had done it!
I started jumping up and down and screeching in delight at which point he said, "Mommy don't scream." This would become his mantra every time after that when I got excited by potty success. He'd say, "I pooped on the potty, mommy don't scream," all in one breath. Of course when he continued to have accidents for months after that he'd say, "Mom I have a poop in my pants, don't scream." It was a very messy time in motherhood.
We'd promised him that when he went on the potty a few times we'd start planning a trip to Disneyland. We went during his sister Tali's February break. We stayed with some friends near the park. The night we arrived in their home he went in his pants. "Okay," we said, we're in a new place, we didn't show him where the bathroom was, let's relax."
When he had an accident again the next morning we had lost all patience. Richard was cleaning him up and said to him, "You're not going to Disneyland today!" Richard and I had discussed the idea that if Charlie had an accident while we were in the park he'd have to leave with one of us. We'd also discussed that if he had one before we left to go to the park, he wouldn't go. We made one big mistake: We didn't discuss it with him.
Did I mention our friends were a couple of pediatricians as well as parents of two small boys? While I calmed Charlie down from his "I want to go to Disneyland" tantrum, our friend Stacey calmed Richard down. She explained that by not laying it out ahead of time for Charlie, we were being unfair. We settled on telling him that there would be no treats that day and if he had an accident at the park we'd leave AND he wouldn't go the next day. He complied the rest of the trip.
We came home, Richard went back to work and Charlie had another accident on my watch. I remained calm, and said, "It's ok Charlie, you're going to clean it up."
"But Mommy," he said, "It's yucky. I will get it all over me."
"Yes," I responded, "It is yucky," and I handed him some wipes.
I'll spare you the details, but that was Charlie's last accident. I learned that the best way to teach my child a lesson, was to teach him to clean up his own mess.
I don't know if it was Charlie's disgust that finally trained him or if that's just when it clicked for him. I do know that if my son had been able to say to me at some point, "Mommy, I promise, when I'm ready I will just do it and never look back," the last year with my four year old would have been a lot calmer, although just as messy.
The room in the house that was such a sore subject for us for such a long time, is now a complete non-issue. It is simply the room where people bathe, brush their teeth and use the toilet. I almost miss the potty chart that no longer hangs above the toilet where we recorded Charlie's progress with stickers, and comments by his sister. But like Charlie I will never look back and will simply enjoy not cleaning up quite as many messes, at least not in the bathroom.
You are such a great writer, Danielle! Well done! And thank you for sharing it with me!
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