All I smell is pee. The whole house. Pee.
If you polled the world of parenting and ask the simple question “what’s the worst part of parenting (pre-teen addition),” people would do one of two things: respond “potty training” or reveal themselves to be liars. Potty training is the worst. The absolute worst.
We’re working on potty training Rocky and, while it’s not going terribly, it’s not been a quick process. This probably isn’t being helped by our lack of consistency.
Monday: “Oh, look at you peeing in the potty! Who’s a big boy? Big boy putting pee in the potty. You deserve an M&M”
Tuesday: “You peed? Okay, pull your pants up. Candy? *sigh* I suppose, hang on.”
Wednesday: “Candy? Talk to me when you drop a turd.”
We have a couple half-filled sticker charts on the fridge, the promise of more candy unfullfilled. Some days we use pull-ups, some day we use underwear, and some days we stick him in a diaper and change him when we notice his Pampers dragging on the floor.
In short, we’ve been our own worst enemy. But, by some miracle, we’re approaching some approximation of him being able to keep his pants dry for days in a row. The weirdest thing is he’s been better with the poop then the pee. But, then again, I’ve seen his poop. I wouldn’t want to sit in that either.
Just last week, this was a common conversation:
“Hey Rocky, did you pee your pants?”
Rocky, not even looking up from his play, “Yep”
“Buddy, you have to tell us when you have to pee.”
Rocky looks up at me with a smile. “It’s okay, Daddy.”
Right. But he is getting close. The other day, he crapped his pants. *But*, he did it right in front of the toilet and dragged his underwear down to his ankles to finish his business in the potty. When I went in to see what was up, he was happily wiping, his legs smeared with shit, along with the toilet seat and rug. I went to help and he proudly turned to me and said “No Daddy, I’ve got it.” He’d made it to the potty…basically. He was a champion…pretty much.
I think the peeing started to come around when he realized he was just tall enough to pee standing up. Actually, he’s kind of the perfect height for it as he can just rest his junk on the rim of the bowl. No hands needed; no aiming. He’s going to be really disappointed when he grows a few inches and has to put forth a little effort to hit his target.
And when he finishes? He bends over and puts both hands on the rim of toilet, leans his head in, and spits out a spray of saliva. I’m proud to say he learned one important lesson from Dad: you’re not done peeing until you’ve spit.