Here is my definition of not fun.
The whole process is literally going to kill me. I’ve been through it twice before, but never like this. I seriously can’t take it. I’m borderline ready to either temporarily move out or send my three year old son to boot camp. He turned 3 in May. He can speak in full sentences, understand consequences for poor behavior, build a very complicated lego tower with his bare hands, operate the iPad better than his mother, and brush his own teeth. Yet, he can’t shit in the toilet. More specifically, he “won’t.” He has demonstrated on several occasions that he in fact “can.” It’s a choice. He just simply can’t be bothered with it. It apparently takes too much effort and/or interferes with his very stressful carefree life way too much to care.
Here’s my burning question. Why do I care? He’s the one who would rather walk around the house with a diaper full of shit stuck to his ass reeking like last month’s rotten garbage than simply take two minutes or less to relieve himself like a decent human being. He’s the one who looks me straight in the eye with a big fat fuck you grin on his face while he’s peeing down his leg into the puddle that I will have to clean up. “Sucks to be you Mom. Where’s my lunch?”
I waited too long. He’s beyond stickers or M&M’s or a round of applause or prizes. He’s beyond the cute 2 year old, “Oh look, he’s trying so hard, get a camera, he just doesn’t get it yet, be patient and stay the course” bullshit too. He’s ornery and manipulative and very much aware of his defiance and the effect it has on his mother. It’s become his cheap entertainment. “Oh, look at Mommy’s red face again. That’s funny.” I’m seriously one more “accident” away from throwing in the towel. It’s not really an “accident” at this point anyway but more of an intentional attention grabbing act meant to torment the woman who gave birth to him. It’s literally to the point that my husband suggested tonight that I maybe should try “rubbing his nose in it.”
The real slap in the face for me is that I was gone a couple of days ago and he went all day with his Daddy having no accidents. All. Fucking. Day. They went to the zoo and did all kinds of other fun filled activities. I got home and spent less than a half hour with him the next day before he had his first of multiple episodes. Number 1, number 1, number 2, and number 1 again. How do I explain that to Proud Super Dad who comes home from work and wants an immediate progress report on his son’s toileting habits for the day? Do I admit that I am a failure and that he is better than me at doing what I am responsible for doing every single waking moment of my life but he can accomplish in less than 6 hours? Not a chance. “Everything went very well honey. I think he’s really starting to get it.”
Here’s the unspoken truth. My son will walk into the room and declare in the most pompous tone, “Mom! I pooped. Change my butt!” The only thing that would make it more insulting is if he followed it up with, “Mom! Meatloaf!”
So, why do I care? Because in two months he is registered to start preschool with the stipulation that your child “must be potty trained.” Two hours, two days a week of uninterrupted me time to maybe enjoy a peaceful shower, pluck my neglected unibrow, or take my own shit in the toilet that my son refuses to utilize on a daily basis.
I am in full blown crisis mode. If I have to fashion a makeshift diaper using duct tape and Febreeze, he is going to preschool. Mark my words.