Potty Training Red: Part One

T MINUS 24 HOURS:

The morning before the big day, I tried to drum up some excitement for the whole potty training process. “Good morning! Who is the biggest boy ever?! Who is going to start going on the potty tomorrow?! You are!”

Red remained politely, but adamantly, against the whole business. “No thank you. I don’t want to be a big boy.”

I tried another approach. “You know, big boys get to wear fancy-schmancy big boy underwear.”

Nothing doing.

T MINUS 12 HOURS:

The family trundled off to the Target store to purchase supplies: Thomas the Tank Engine undies for Red and ice cream for Mommy.

Red’s eyes light up when he saw the package of big boy underwear. I allowed myself to hope when he immediately asked to put them on. I reassured him that he could wear his new underwear the next morning when he started to use the potty like a big boy. Red drifted off to dreamland snuggling with a pair of his new Thomas underwear.

DAY 1:

Not an auspicious beginning. Red woke up happy and excited that Daddy was home for the weekend. “Daddy! You came home!”

I immediately ruined his good mood by suggesting that he use the potty.

“NO! I DON’T WANT TO GO ON POTTY! IDON’T WANT TO BE A BIG BOY!”

In a long history of spectacular tantrums, this one was a standout. I tried to lead him to the bathroom, but he collapsed on the floor and rolled into a ball. I tried to lift him to standing, but he wouldn’t lock his knees.

“Put. Your. Feet. Down. Put them down!”

He wouldn’t. I picked him up and carried him into the bathroom, but then he wouldn’t let go of me. I would unwrap his legs and he would cling tighter with his arms. I got his arms off of me and he wrapped his legs around my waist.  I finally swung his legs out and was able to peel his hands off of my neck before he could get his legs back around me.

Then he immediately dropped his truck into the toilet.

Stunned, Red stopped crying. Husband mistook the silence for success and popped in to do the potty dance. Instead, he found the two of us staring forlornly into the toilet bowl. Red resumed crying hysterically. I fished the truck out, cleaned it up, and gave it back to him. While he and his truck enjoyed a heartwarming reunion, I stripped him down and put him onto the toilet.

Crying and screaming, “I WILL NEVER PEE IN THE POTTY,” he started to pee. In the potty! Success!

Half an hour later, he crapped in his pants. Failure!

DAY 2:

We realized that we needed to offer Red an incentive to tell us when he had to go potty. “Hey Red, if you make me some pee pee in the potty, you can have a gummy worm.”

“Okay! I have to go potty Mommy.”

Drip. “One.” Drip. “Two.” Drip. “Three. I get THREE gummy worms!”

“No, sweetie, you do not get a gummy worm for each drop of pee, just one for every TIME you go.”

Then Husband ate all the gummy worms.

Husband made an emergency worm run, but Red wasn’t taking any chances that we would run out again. He stopped eating them and started stockpiling them. When it was time for bed, Red wanted to bring his new “friends” with him. He was probably scared Husband would eat them otherwise. Smart kid. I made the case that they would get all sticky and make a mess. Husband and Red assured me that gummy worms are an excellent bedtime pal.

DAY 3:           

Red woke up with a gummy worm stuck to his neck. Another gummy worm had glued his shorts to his stomach and he was having some trouble walking. I peeled the gummy worms off of Red, but he had sticky spots all over his body. As the day went on, dog fur stuck to the sticky spots and he looked like he had some sort of reverse mange.

Lesson: gummy worms are NOT an excellent bedtime pal, Husband.

STAY TUNED for an update on the rest of the first week of potty training Red. Highlights include a close call with Social Services and "Is that poo on the trampoline?"