On Potty Training

Sage has been potty training since we got back from MN. Literally, the day after we got home, I announced "No more pull-ups." And he went with it. The first 2 days were horrible. Accidents all. the. time. The third day dawned and I thought if it doesn't get better, he is going back to pull ups.

And miracle of miracles, no accidents!

The next day, we had planned to drive into Boston and tour Fenway and Harvard. I was nervous about Sage and public bathrooms and accidents. I packed 4 pair of clean clothes and ended up using one of the pair of shorts for Kolby because I forgot to change his diaper! Oops. I felt like we were on our way. The sticker chart was working, everything was great. I bragged to my sister how good he was doing.

Then I don't know what happened. Different accidents started. The kind where he starts going in his pants and then stops and finishes in the toilet. It was exasperating but I played it cool, no big deal. And then I played it disappointing. The accidents didn't let up. They got worse.

You might have read the letter. I was fed up. I called in reinforcements and called grandma. She said, it sounds like he has found something to be rebellious and control you. It sounds like you need to spank. She said the S word!

I decided to threaten Sage with the S word. I told him that accidents are not tolerated in our house. If he is going to choose to pee on the couch or floor instead of in the potty, he will have to get a spanking because he is disobeying.

He has had one accident since and it seemed to truly be an accident.

We are still working the sticker chart and I don't even want to think about how much money we have spent on cars and books to get to this point. The guitar is still looming over his head. I still have to tell him to go to the bathroom. Or maybe I am not brave enough to find out what happens if I don't! I hope when he is sixteen I am not calling him on his cell at school telling him to go to the bathroom.

Don't get me started on going number two. Battle. He holds it. He walks around on tip toes with his cheeks squeezed together. We talk about how everyone poops. He names everyone he knows. Yep, our neighbors, mailman, dogs, friends, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Why does he continue to look amazed everytime we answer, "Yes, grandma poops."

Yesterday, as we drove home he asked "Someday, when me get bigger, me not poop anymore?" No, buddy, you will always poop.