Poop Chronicles, vol. 1

I can honestly say that I deal with crap all day long. When you have three children in diapers at once you are going to end up with some tales to share. I've been thinking that I was above sharing such juvenile humor in so public a forum as a blog but, I was wrong. I am so that juvenile.

I have decided to start with the oft-repeated story of Anthony's first poop on the toilet.

It was at the end of 2 years of potty training. We were at the point where he would pee in the toilet with no problem, thanks to my little brother David who first inspired Anthony to pee on every tree in the apartment complex and transferred this exciting new habit indoors to a toilet after a couple weeks.

So here we are. Just moved to the new house and Anthony is 4 1/2. Anthony does not wear diapers anymore until he has to poo and then he asks for, and receives, a diaper. I have moved from feeling embarrassed to relaxed to frustrated to resigned to desperate and now I'm at the hopeless point. When you are having trouble potty-training a kid people will often tell you, "Don't worry about it. I've never met a 15 year old who doesn't go on the toilet." I would smile and nod but my mental response was becoming, "Yes. But there's a first time for everything."

One day I reached the end of my rope and told him that there were no more diapers for him and he HAD to poo on the pot. There was a lot of crying and since I could see from his a face that he was genuinely afraid (of what I could not conceive, but he was, and is, a very reserved child). I reneged and declared that I would help him overcome his fear of pooping on the toilet. He then surprised me by offering, "Mommy, I might have an idea. Maybe if everyone goes outside and doesn't hear me. " He followed up with a stern admonition that no one was to laugh at him or cheer for him.

"Of course! No problem. I'll just wake Rosie up from her nap, just hold on one minute."

So I get Rosie (just turned 2) out of her crib and haul her outside onto the front porch. I immediately hear a small voice at the top of the stairs. "Mommy, is the door shut?"

"Oh, you want me to shut the front door? Sure!"

I sit on the front porch for about a minute holding a confused and drowsy daughter. I have a faint glimmer of hope that this might be THE ONE.

Tap tap tap. I turn around and there he is staring through window behind me.

"Mommy, maybe you could go into the backyard..."


"Um, sure buddy. Just go back upstairs and poop in the toilet, OK?"

By this time Thomas (about 6 months old) has been awakened by all the activity and I am now carrying two sleepy babies around to the back of the house and we plop down in the chairs around our patio table. I'm returning to my former hopeless state because this is starting to look like it's just another series of stall tactics employed by all children, but I can't possibly pass up any step down the road to independent elimination, so we wait.

About a minute after I've sat down I see his little blond head pop over the picket fence gate to our backyard.

"Hi Mommy. Do you think you could go back next to the shed?"

"The shed?" The shed is at the extreme back of our fairly long back yard. I'm now more convinced then ever that this is just a rouse to make me look like a fool. But I'm just desperate enough to do it. This has gone on long enough and I'll do whatEVER he asks, just to keep the hope alive.

So we trudge through the backyard. I call John since he's on his way home from work and I warn him NOT to go into the house, just come to the shed. Anthony might be pooping. I can explain later, just come to the shed. Oh, I've got to go - Anthony's calling me.

He has been inside long enough that I'm thinking that this could be the moment of truth. My boy, MY BOY, may be calling me inside to wipe his bottom for him. But he opens the second floor window and bellows out across the neighborhood, "THE HOLE'S TOO BIG FOR MY BUTT!" (This from the child afraid of anyone "hearing me poop.") So I call up, saying that if he can just hold it for a few minutes I'll get the potty seat to put onto the toilet. I call John to pick up the potty seat from the old rental house which we are only half moved out of - AND HURRY!

So John gets home, runs the potty seat up to the little man and then joins the vigil at the shed.

We did eventually get a call that day for a bottom wipe and celebrated the First Toilet Poop with the First Trip to Chucky Cheese's. It was a good day for all, if not a bit ridiculous.