My eldest son is battling and battling hard. His opponent? The Potty. After months of encouraging the boy to pee in the potty with no luck, he finally got there. He was a peeing champ, getting up and going to the bathroom all on his own, like a big boy. Mom and Dad were so proud. We thought that the day would never come. However,the toilet training process was not over.
While the boy mastered peeing in the potty, moving onto the next stage: going No. 2 in the potty was a whole different story. He would not go there. Period. We tried it all - we sat with him, rubbed his back, read to him, bought Gummy Bears as a reward, offered to buy him any toy or game he wanted; nothing worked.
After consultation with the Pediatrician, we provided him the "OK" to continue to go No. 2 in his Pull Ups, but there were restrictions. We were not going to let him rule the roost ... completely.
His part of the deal dictated the he go upstairs to the bathroom, put his Pull Up on, turn the fan on, and come get us when he was finished. The Doctor said that he would find these steps to be too laborious a process and decide to do it our way - the easy way. He liked the set-up and would not budge.
My husband and I decided this was the end of the game, something needed to happen. He would soon be four, starting preschool, and we needed to help him get over the hump. We stopped buying Pull Ups. He stopped going No. 2. He is a Leo. It was three days and nights of him jumping around like a chimpanzee, trying to repress his bodily functions. We consulted our Doctor again and she said that we can't go back; we must follow through. No more Pull Ups. Finally, he went. We were all so proud. We bought him presents and treats and were thrilled. He did it! We all did it! Sigh.
The joy did not last for long when he resorted his old tricks of holding *it* in. Then, it happened: the stomach bug. Three days and nights, 3-5 pairs of underwear a day. In his pants. Still, he would not go near The Potty. Five days later, the stomach bug has seemed to its course and we are grateful. However, he still going in his pants.
This is not to say that there has been no successes.
He has gone in the potty 3 -4 times in the last two weeks. The rest of the time, we have not been so fortunate. He will get there. I know it. I am patient. I try to be patient. My husband is not patient. I don't know how the boy feels. He says he is scared. He does not tell me exactly what about going No. 2 in the potty scares him, but, clearly something does. I know that he will move forward and get to where needs to be. He is still three years old and has a lifetime of pooping in the potty (or so we hope).
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Wiggly Waffle
Middle-aged men, clad in colorful jumpers and Australian accents are jumping, dancing, and singing through my television set, transfixing my son at 6:00am. Who are these uniformed men and why do they have so much energy and why do they have so much power over my "almost two" years old boy? The Wiggles, of course.
Awaking from a full night's (if we are lucky) sleep, the boy will sometimes call for "Mama" or "Dada", but more likely, he will shout for "Banana", "Blue-berry", or his favorite"Wiggly Waffle." Wiggly Waffles are a perfect blend of his love for food and television.
My son is addicted to TV. Well, I embellish. He is not "addicted" but has a very real devotion to certain programs and characters, like Elmo and The Wiggles. Before having a baby, I thought that I would be one of "those" moms. You know the type. They breastfeed for at least 12 months, make their own organic baby food, and do not introduce TV watching to their kids until the American Pediatric Association's recommended second year of life - and then only with a strict two hour a day limit and content, of course.
My upstairs neighbor, a perfectly lovely woman, with two beautiful children, and does not work outside the home. Her youngest shares the same birth - day & year as my son. In fact my son is two hours older than her son. One afternoon, in an effort to be validated (my husband's least favorite word) by the fact that my less than one year old - at the time - liked watching certain children programs, a lot - I asked if her son does as well. Politely, and with genuine humility - she said something like ... "We try keep him away from the television. When my daughter watches TV, I take him in the other room". I was aghast.
A weakness of mine throughout my lifetime has been comparing myself to others. Friendly, non-athletic competition, has always motivated and inspired me. Spending more time preparing for an exam or completing a report for work early are types of silly things that have made me feel superior in someway. Sometimes such comparison, depresses me rather than comforts me, as it should. Inevitably thoughts like, How do they own a house in this fancy-dancey community? Or, How does she look like *that* after just having a baby? And, bingo, I start to feel badly about myself. Not healthy. Not productive. Yet, irresistible.
It is easy to compare oneself to the standard that which you think is paramount. As easy as it to try to keep up with neightbor or the uber-by-the-book parents, I try to focus on what is important. I love my son more than the day is long and would do anything for his unwaivering happiness and well-being - and, sometimes, that involves indulging a ounce or two of The Wiggly Waffle on a Saturday morning while the rest of the house sleeps.
Awaking from a full night's (if we are lucky) sleep, the boy will sometimes call for "Mama" or "Dada", but more likely, he will shout for "Banana", "Blue-berry", or his favorite"Wiggly Waffle." Wiggly Waffles are a perfect blend of his love for food and television.
My son is addicted to TV. Well, I embellish. He is not "addicted" but has a very real devotion to certain programs and characters, like Elmo and The Wiggles. Before having a baby, I thought that I would be one of "those" moms. You know the type. They breastfeed for at least 12 months, make their own organic baby food, and do not introduce TV watching to their kids until the American Pediatric Association's recommended second year of life - and then only with a strict two hour a day limit and content, of course.
My upstairs neighbor, a perfectly lovely woman, with two beautiful children, and does not work outside the home. Her youngest shares the same birth - day & year as my son. In fact my son is two hours older than her son. One afternoon, in an effort to be validated (my husband's least favorite word) by the fact that my less than one year old - at the time - liked watching certain children programs, a lot - I asked if her son does as well. Politely, and with genuine humility - she said something like ... "We try keep him away from the television. When my daughter watches TV, I take him in the other room". I was aghast.
A weakness of mine throughout my lifetime has been comparing myself to others. Friendly, non-athletic competition, has always motivated and inspired me. Spending more time preparing for an exam or completing a report for work early are types of silly things that have made me feel superior in someway. Sometimes such comparison, depresses me rather than comforts me, as it should. Inevitably thoughts like, How do they own a house in this fancy-dancey community? Or, How does she look like *that* after just having a baby? And, bingo, I start to feel badly about myself. Not healthy. Not productive. Yet, irresistible.
It is easy to compare oneself to the standard that which you think is paramount. As easy as it to try to keep up with neightbor or the uber-by-the-book parents, I try to focus on what is important. I love my son more than the day is long and would do anything for his unwaivering happiness and well-being - and, sometimes, that involves indulging a ounce or two of The Wiggly Waffle on a Saturday morning while the rest of the house sleeps.
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