Monday, May 9, 2011
Pooping People are Happy People.
My sister, Beads, who is a nurse, said that to me once. It has stuck with me ever since.
And it came to mind today. For sure.
*Alert - if you dislike hearing potty-training stories, especially stories involving poop, read no further.
Micah was just a punk all morning long. Crying, shouting, screaming, throwing stuff, giving me 'tude, on and on and on. He was killing me. By 11 a.m., I had enough and put him down for his nap early. I was done. He only slept for like an hour, unfortunately. Then he woke up, and that is when the REAL fun began.
We've been potty-training him for awhile now, and we're pretty much there. He's sleeping sans diaper, waking up dry, not peeing in his pants anymore, asking for help when he needs to pee... things are going well. All except for the pooping area of his life. He's scared to poop in the potty. Sadie was scared to poop in the potty at this age, too. But that only lasted like a week. This has been lasting for, like, a month or two.
As of today, he had yet to poop in the potty. He poops in his undies. We make him clean it out. And we make him go naked as punishment for pooping in his undies. He really hates going naked from the waist down. All of these things still haven't helped to encourage him to just crap in the dang toilet.
When he woke up from his way-too-short nap, he pooped in his undies, so I made him clean it out, and then I made him be nakey the rest of the day. He was fa-reaking out, all afternoon. All evening. I knew he wasn't done pooping. I knew he still had some in there. He knew he still had some in there. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. And he couldn't bring himself to just... I don't know... poop on the floor or something (thank goodness). So he kept asking me to help him go potty, like, every two minutes. ALLLLL AFTERNOON LONG. It was a nightmare. So I'd help him get on the potty and get him all set up, and he would get this scared look on his face and say, "Ah done! Ah done!" and jump off the potty and go running. No pee, no poop. No nothing. Just a waste of my time. He was holding in his pee, too, because I think he knows that sometimes the peeing encourages the pooping, right?
Finally, by this evening, I'd had enough. The next time he said, "I go pee?" I said, "Go on in. Knock yourself out." He was naked, so I didn't worry about him not pulling his undies and pants down in time. He knows how to climb onto his stool and sit on the potty and pee. I knew he'd go in, sit down, and that nothing would happen. And that I could do dishes in peace. "He can waste his own time," I muttered to myself.
Ben came home, and he and I were putting finishing touches on dinner (hot hoagies from my friend Melissa's blog - delish), and Micah comes in the kitchen with POOP on his HANDS. In his NAILS. I think he was on the toilet, started pooping, and was trying to stop it from coming out. Oh my GOSH. His hands smelled like crap, he had poop all over his legs, it was smeared all over the toilet seat...
I had to wipe him down with baby wipes, and then MY hands smelled like crap for the rest of the night. I had to finally use bleach to wash my hands. Just straight bleach.
We decided to put him in the tub. For the second time today. Because the smell was just so awful. Dinner was ready, so we just kind of let him soak in the tub to get the smell out. We're all eating dinner, and he's in there, just bawling and bawling. Every now and then, we'd hear, "I go pee?" And we'd say, "Go ahead, dude." And he'd cry and cry and cry.
I felt badly, but dude. He needed to poop. And I can't physically force him to poop. It's something he had to work through on his own, you know? Kind of like when you have the stomach flu all night. Nobody can really help you. You just have to fight that fight. It's awful, but that's just the way some things are. He knows how to get on the potty. I had to turn it over to him.
Finally, he comes out of the bathroom, says, "I poop," and bursts into fresh tears. We go running in there, and sure enough, the kid finally pooped in the dang potty. We jumped up and down and yelled and cheered and gave him high-fives, etc. We made a huge deal.
I hope this is the last of the poop trauma. My heck.
Looking back, I'll bet this is why he was so grumpy all morning. He wasn't pooping, and he needed to. Therefore, he wasn't happy. Just like my sister said.
Motherhood is so hard. Seriously so hard.