Monday, April 21, 2014

Potty Training

When J texted me that James had successfully gone on the potty, my first instinct was to text back "Great, don't put it on facebook." On the one hand, I know very well how overjoyed a parent must be that their child has learned to use the potty and has now begun the journey out of diapers and diaper-changing. On the other hand, the disgusting details of each successful potty trip are updates I don't need to know. Especially when I'm eating.

When I came home that night I clapped and hollered for James and asked him if he wanted to go again. ("No.") We'd been trying to bribe him with cookies for months, and he flatly denied every attempt to get him onto the pot voluntarily. I'm not sure what changed for him this time, but he proudly announced to me that he got "two cookies" (actually three animal crackers) when he related the events of the evening. 

The next day I was home with him, and I attempted all morning to get him onto the potty again. No luck. At J's suggestion I bought a bag of skittles at Wegmans, since they are much smaller than chocolate chip cookies and they are James' favorite candy. (And, though this was in no way related to her suggestion, J's favorite candy.) I showed them to James when I got home and I told me "Oh, I want THOSE cookies!"

I had him on my own that afternoon, and to my great excitement he finally said he'd like to sit on the potty again when I asked him for the four hundredth time. He hopped up, paused for a second, and then said "I wanna cookie." I peered into the basin to inspect the results, and couldn't see any sign he'd done anything. 

"Sorry James, you need to put some pee in the potty if you want a cookie."

No luck. He began fussing at me and begging for the iPad, and when I finally took him off the potty ten minutes later he was downright cross. It was just about suppertime, so I dumped the grumpy bear in his high chair and made him a peanut butter and jelly. He sat with one elbow up resting his head on his hand half-eating and half-smearing his sandwich all over his face. By this point I really needed to go to the bathroom, so I left the grouch alone in the kitchen.

When I entered the bathroom, I saw what I'd missed earlier. He did go to the potty.

I walked back out, and he looked up at me glumly. I knelt down and said in a soft voice "James, you did go to the potty, didn't you?" He nodded. "And Daddy didn't believe you. James, I looked but I didn't see it. Will you forgive Daddy?"

He stared back at me for a second and then his eyes started to well and his whole face scrunched up. He threw the peanut butter and jelly sandwich down and reached out, crying and begging "Daddy, Daddy, hold you! Daddy hold you!"

"Oh James, I'm so sorry. You did such a good job going on the potty, and I didn't even see it!"

"Daddy, I want GOOkie! Please gookie, Daddy." He wiped his peanut butter mouth and his runny nose on my shoulder while I retrieved the bag of skittles. 

I set him back down and pulled out four skittles. Still trembling, he looked up.

"No, I want TWO cookies."

I put down one more skittle. 

"Is that two, James?"

"Okay."

He went again (at his own asking) once more that night, and immediately asked for "cookies" again. When J pulled him out of the bath and wrapped him in a towel before bed, he looked at her, tensed for a moment, and then declared to her "I want cookie." I don't think very much of it got through the towel, but she did get a little wet.

That night we put him into bed as proud as any two parents could be. And he lay in the dark with deep fish overhead, snuggling George and Steven and looking up at his picture of "three tractors." There are actually six. He counts them 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 3!

Maybe after potty-training we'll work on counting.

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