I have a confession to make.
I am not always the most patient of moms.
Phew.
I'm really glad I got that off my chest.
But seriously, folks, I never knew that it was going to be so hard.
Yes, I'm talking about potty-training. Jack is 4 1/2 years old now, and we have been trying to potty-train him, on and off, using various methods, for the past year and a half.
No exaggeration. Honestly, I wish I was exaggerating.
I'll admit, he most definitely wasn't old enough the first time we tried it. Last April, Steve had a week off of work, and I was 8 months pregnant with Maggie, when Steve decided, "Hey--our kid is 3 years old now, it'd be nice not to have 3 kids in diapers, so let's just take a week and potty-train him before the baby comes!" Logically, it made sense, right?
I fought back, just to let you know. I argued that Jack was showing absolutely none of the signs of being prepared for potty-training, that it would be stressful for me, and that I was sure that once the baby came, he'd regress anyways, but Steve was confident.
"I'll do it. I've got the week off, I'll train him."
So I agreed, reluctantly.
We invested in several fun pairs of underwear and an entire stash of "Potty Treats--" candy, cheapo toys (you know, the kind you find at the dentist's office), and tried to talk it up. Jack was genuinely excited, and, after reading a book that described in great detail EXACTLY how to potty-train your child within two to three extensive days, I actually felt ready for what was to come.
Of course, reality struck, and it was not pretty. Steve ended up having to be gone for basically the entire week, despite having work off (between classes, studying, and helping out with a local play, he had several "unscheduled events" pop up), and so I ended up being the one to clean up the messes, bargain with Jack, beg and plead with him as he sat on the toilet for literally five to ten minutes every half an hour, and after 5 days, when Jack had literally gone pee in the toilet only ONCE in that time, I quit.
"We can have three kids in diapers for all I care--what we CANNOT have is a mother who has literally gone insane, which will happen if this continues."
Steve (wisely) agreed, and we let it go back to normal.
I tried to suppress all bitter comments when my friends would come around and talk about their miraculous prodigy children who had completely and flawlessly potty-trained themselves by age two (true story), and when they'd ask why my son (who, by that point, looked at least five) was still in diapers, I'd just smile and say, "Oh, we're just waiting until he's ready for it," and then try to ignore the condescending looks they gave to the failure of a mother whose ginormous child was still in diapers.
Several months later (I forget exactly when), we tried again, with much more success this time. He was older, he recognized the feelings his body had when he needed to go, and he made it into the toilet nearly every time he had to go Number One, and even a couple of times when he had to go Number Two.
We cheered and celebrated and threw all his old diapers away--(just kidding. We still had two other kids in diapers--no way are we throwing those away!), and I was grateful to have one less child in diapers. I thought we were past the worst of it.
Boy, was I wrong.
Any time the least amount of stress finds its way into Jack's life, he reacts by having accidents. Sometimes, we will literally go for weeks at a time without Jack making it to the toilet to go Number Two. I have read countless books and articles on potty-training techniques, I have tried bribery, rewarding systems (same thing, really), punishments for when he has accidents, and even, on occasion, apparently trying to guilt him into it by literally bursting into tears when he has yet ANOTHER accident.
I don't cry on purpose, mind you, but after a while, I just get SO TIRED of poop that trying to be cheerful and brave and positive as I'm cleaning up another human being's feces is just too much.
These last couple of weeks have been pretty rough as far as that goes....apparently, my anxiety and stress about the coming schedule was making itself known in my behavior to my children, and although I've tried my hardest to still be as loving and gentle as possible, Jack could obviously feel it, because for the last two weeks straight, he's had accidents in his underwear on a daily basis--sometimes two or three times a day. While I've handled it calmly and kindly most of the time, a few days ago, I lost my temper with him. As I berated and even yelled at him, the look in his eyes caught me, and I stopped dead in my tracks. He was mortified, scared, and embarrassed, and I was making it worse.
I felt like an absolute monster. And I had not a clue as to how to stop it.
Lest you think that this next part is blasphemous or inappropriate, I want to let you all know that I fully integrate my religion into my daily life. I genuinely believe that my Heavenly Father knows what is important to me and that He wants to help me with it, even if it is something as temporal and inconsequential as whether or not my four-year-old is pooping in his pants (Yes, I just used the phrases "Heavenly Father" and "pooping" in the same sentence. I'm cool like that).
On Wednesday morning, I got up and decided that I needed to make a semi-spontaneous trip to the temple. I wasn't having a bad day or anything, and I definitely didn't have Jack's potty-training failures in mind when I made the decision, but I felt drawn to go, for some reason.
I called up my dear friend, who ever-so-kindly agreed to watch three extra hooligans for the morning, grabbed my tiny suitcase, and made the 5-minute trip to the temple (yes, yes, I know I'm extremely lucky to have one so close).
As I was sitting in the session, my mind turned towards Jack and the issues he's been having (not necessarily limited to potty-training, but that's the biggest and most obvious symptom), and I sent up a quick, silent, but fervent prayer.
"Heavenly Father, please help me to know how to help my son. Please."
The answer was quick, simple, and absolutely clear.
"Just love him. Don't try to change him or fix him, just love him and do what you can to make sure he feels that love."
Tears came to my eyes, and I resolved to do my best to change. Immediately.
I finished the session, came home and put Clark and Maggie down for their naps, then let Jack know that, if he sat on my bed and read quietly while I ate some lunch, I would come and snuggle with him for quiet time.
I ate my lunch quickly, then came into the bedroom where Jack was lying, sucking his thumb and reading a book.
I took him into my arms and started stroking his hair, his arms, and his back, as I told him all of the things that I loved about him--how smart and kind he is, how lucky I am that he is an amazing helper, how he works so hard to learn how to read and write, how he tries to make the people around him happy, and how he is strong, fast, and talented.
I told him, over and over again, how much I love him, that I am proud of him, that I am so grateful to be his mom.
As we both sat together, having this incredibly sweet tender moment, Jack turned to me.
"Mom?"
"Yes, honey?" I smiled gently.
"I have to go poop!"
He jumped up and ran to the bathroom, and I started cracking up.
Yes, prayers are answered. Sometimes, incredibly quickly and obviously.
Just for the record, I have decided to make this an afternoon tradition of snuggling with Jack and me telling him all the things that I love about him.
And, also for the record, Jack hasn't had a single accident since that afternoon.
Like I said, prayers are answered.
P.S. I want to point out that, just as my son's accidents are nothing but a symptom of underlying frustrations, fears, or angers, I am NOT telling my son that I love him in order to manipulate him into being accident-free. Just so you all know.
I am not always the most patient of moms.
Phew.
I'm really glad I got that off my chest.
But seriously, folks, I never knew that it was going to be so hard.
Yes, I'm talking about potty-training. Jack is 4 1/2 years old now, and we have been trying to potty-train him, on and off, using various methods, for the past year and a half.
No exaggeration. Honestly, I wish I was exaggerating.
I'll admit, he most definitely wasn't old enough the first time we tried it. Last April, Steve had a week off of work, and I was 8 months pregnant with Maggie, when Steve decided, "Hey--our kid is 3 years old now, it'd be nice not to have 3 kids in diapers, so let's just take a week and potty-train him before the baby comes!" Logically, it made sense, right?
I fought back, just to let you know. I argued that Jack was showing absolutely none of the signs of being prepared for potty-training, that it would be stressful for me, and that I was sure that once the baby came, he'd regress anyways, but Steve was confident.
"I'll do it. I've got the week off, I'll train him."
So I agreed, reluctantly.
We invested in several fun pairs of underwear and an entire stash of "Potty Treats--" candy, cheapo toys (you know, the kind you find at the dentist's office), and tried to talk it up. Jack was genuinely excited, and, after reading a book that described in great detail EXACTLY how to potty-train your child within two to three extensive days, I actually felt ready for what was to come.
Of course, reality struck, and it was not pretty. Steve ended up having to be gone for basically the entire week, despite having work off (between classes, studying, and helping out with a local play, he had several "unscheduled events" pop up), and so I ended up being the one to clean up the messes, bargain with Jack, beg and plead with him as he sat on the toilet for literally five to ten minutes every half an hour, and after 5 days, when Jack had literally gone pee in the toilet only ONCE in that time, I quit.
"We can have three kids in diapers for all I care--what we CANNOT have is a mother who has literally gone insane, which will happen if this continues."
Steve (wisely) agreed, and we let it go back to normal.
I tried to suppress all bitter comments when my friends would come around and talk about their miraculous prodigy children who had completely and flawlessly potty-trained themselves by age two (true story), and when they'd ask why my son (who, by that point, looked at least five) was still in diapers, I'd just smile and say, "Oh, we're just waiting until he's ready for it," and then try to ignore the condescending looks they gave to the failure of a mother whose ginormous child was still in diapers.
Several months later (I forget exactly when), we tried again, with much more success this time. He was older, he recognized the feelings his body had when he needed to go, and he made it into the toilet nearly every time he had to go Number One, and even a couple of times when he had to go Number Two.
We cheered and celebrated and threw all his old diapers away--(just kidding. We still had two other kids in diapers--no way are we throwing those away!), and I was grateful to have one less child in diapers. I thought we were past the worst of it.
Boy, was I wrong.
Any time the least amount of stress finds its way into Jack's life, he reacts by having accidents. Sometimes, we will literally go for weeks at a time without Jack making it to the toilet to go Number Two. I have read countless books and articles on potty-training techniques, I have tried bribery, rewarding systems (same thing, really), punishments for when he has accidents, and even, on occasion, apparently trying to guilt him into it by literally bursting into tears when he has yet ANOTHER accident.
I don't cry on purpose, mind you, but after a while, I just get SO TIRED of poop that trying to be cheerful and brave and positive as I'm cleaning up another human being's feces is just too much.
These last couple of weeks have been pretty rough as far as that goes....apparently, my anxiety and stress about the coming schedule was making itself known in my behavior to my children, and although I've tried my hardest to still be as loving and gentle as possible, Jack could obviously feel it, because for the last two weeks straight, he's had accidents in his underwear on a daily basis--sometimes two or three times a day. While I've handled it calmly and kindly most of the time, a few days ago, I lost my temper with him. As I berated and even yelled at him, the look in his eyes caught me, and I stopped dead in my tracks. He was mortified, scared, and embarrassed, and I was making it worse.
I felt like an absolute monster. And I had not a clue as to how to stop it.
Lest you think that this next part is blasphemous or inappropriate, I want to let you all know that I fully integrate my religion into my daily life. I genuinely believe that my Heavenly Father knows what is important to me and that He wants to help me with it, even if it is something as temporal and inconsequential as whether or not my four-year-old is pooping in his pants (Yes, I just used the phrases "Heavenly Father" and "pooping" in the same sentence. I'm cool like that).
On Wednesday morning, I got up and decided that I needed to make a semi-spontaneous trip to the temple. I wasn't having a bad day or anything, and I definitely didn't have Jack's potty-training failures in mind when I made the decision, but I felt drawn to go, for some reason.
I called up my dear friend, who ever-so-kindly agreed to watch three extra hooligans for the morning, grabbed my tiny suitcase, and made the 5-minute trip to the temple (yes, yes, I know I'm extremely lucky to have one so close).
As I was sitting in the session, my mind turned towards Jack and the issues he's been having (not necessarily limited to potty-training, but that's the biggest and most obvious symptom), and I sent up a quick, silent, but fervent prayer.
"Heavenly Father, please help me to know how to help my son. Please."
The answer was quick, simple, and absolutely clear.
"Just love him. Don't try to change him or fix him, just love him and do what you can to make sure he feels that love."
Tears came to my eyes, and I resolved to do my best to change. Immediately.
I finished the session, came home and put Clark and Maggie down for their naps, then let Jack know that, if he sat on my bed and read quietly while I ate some lunch, I would come and snuggle with him for quiet time.
I ate my lunch quickly, then came into the bedroom where Jack was lying, sucking his thumb and reading a book.
I took him into my arms and started stroking his hair, his arms, and his back, as I told him all of the things that I loved about him--how smart and kind he is, how lucky I am that he is an amazing helper, how he works so hard to learn how to read and write, how he tries to make the people around him happy, and how he is strong, fast, and talented.
I told him, over and over again, how much I love him, that I am proud of him, that I am so grateful to be his mom.
As we both sat together, having this incredibly sweet tender moment, Jack turned to me.
"Mom?"
"Yes, honey?" I smiled gently.
"I have to go poop!"
He jumped up and ran to the bathroom, and I started cracking up.
Yes, prayers are answered. Sometimes, incredibly quickly and obviously.
Just for the record, I have decided to make this an afternoon tradition of snuggling with Jack and me telling him all the things that I love about him.
And, also for the record, Jack hasn't had a single accident since that afternoon.
Like I said, prayers are answered.
P.S. I want to point out that, just as my son's accidents are nothing but a symptom of underlying frustrations, fears, or angers, I am NOT telling my son that I love him in order to manipulate him into being accident-free. Just so you all know.
Comments
poop and potty training. I really think that's the only reason Connor is potty trained. He has his accidents. But most kids do for the first year or more.
If Jack is 6 and still having problems...then that's something to talk to the dr. about. Otherwise...his accidents are perfectly normal.