Potty Progress

"Oh, did you see that so-and-so posted that little so-and-so went on the potty" J would say

"That's disgusting. I hereby judge them." I would answer

"Oh, they're just excited to start potty training. It's a big deal for young parents."

"So it is. But not fit for public consumption. Especially when you post detailed analyses of the amount and composition of the waste, or even worse, photos."

(This has actually happened.)

So, I'm now a hypocrite, because I am publicly analyzing the progress of James' potty training. Good thing I've never been hypocritical up until just now.

Things are going...okay. He regularly has success in the bathroom with what we'll call (for the sake of delicacy) "number one," but so far he's only put "number two" in his training potty by accident. He prefers to do that elsewhere.

And it would be one thing if we thought he hadn't learned how to control it yet, or if he were just having accidents, but no...he is completely deliberate about what he's doing. We'll be reading in the living room and J will say "Hey, where did James go?" He won't be in his bedroom or the kitchen, and then we'll open the door to the pantry where he's standing with one arm up against the shelf and a look of intense concentration on his face.

"James," I'll ask "are you pooping?"
"Nope."
"Do you need to sit on the potty?"
"Nope."

Then he'll amble back over to his toys with a diaper sagging halfway down to his knees and attempt to go back to playing as if nothing were the matter.

We're now at a point where if we hear the pantry door move, even by a slight breeze, we both instantly jump up and make sure that no one is covertly trying to fill their pants next to the spice shelf. But this isn't just an inside problem. If we're playing outside and he disappears behind a bush, the thicket by the edge of the parking lot, or one of several wide-trunked trees we usually discover him squatting and straining with a mess in his pants.

We've tried bribing. We started with marshmallows, and then five marshmallows, then Thomas the Train stickers, cookies and at his own choosing (rather ironically) dark chocolate ice cream. I've offered to let him drive my car and to stay up past his bedtime. He thinks that all these things are agreeable, but he still won't actually use the potty when nature calls.

He doesn't really do a good job of putting "number one" in the potty when nature calls, either. He's perfectly content to pee in his diaper and run around in it, but if we forcibly sit him down on the potty he can usually manufacture a drop or two and earn himself a treat (two orange skittles, always orange, and never anything else) and a sticker for his sticker chart. (Always a green smiley face, and never any other color.) He turns beet red as he sits, then looks up with a bright expression, kicks his feet, and exclaims "I made some!" And, sure enough, there is a micro-drop of urine at the bottom of his training potty. "I need two cookies." (Cookies are skittles. Cookies are also cookies, but this doesn't bother him.)

"James," I tell him as I change another half-digested catastrophe on his changing table "You should really do this in the potty and then you could have some black ice cream and I'd let you drive my car."

"No, no fanks."