Skip to main content

Big Boy underpants: Week 1

Sweet Boy went to school in his Big Boy underpants for the first time on Thursday. He was so excited and proud. I was a nervous wreck.

In the many months since we started potty training, I've learned that potty training is more about training the parents than it is about training the kid. We have to be really, really proactive. At first we must sit the child on the potty at regular intervals throughout the day, whether or not he has to go, and whether he goes willingly or kicking and screaming. Then we must ply him with treats when he wizzes or poos. We must also praise him, great heaping praises for something that most of us either don't think of or think of with disgust. Finally, we must practice some tough love -- "you're a big boy now, and it's time you stop wearing diapers!"

Of course once the diapers are off, it's a whole new ballgame. Now we have to remember that the child probably hasn't yet mastered the whole thing yet, so it's our job to not only remind him to sit on the potty regularly, but also to force him to go to the potty even in the midst of playtime or a favorite cartoon. And, more importantly, it's our job to remember the spare underpants, pants, and shoes, as well as to clean up and apologize for any accidents that occur in public. Oh, and don't forget to always have diaper wipes and Lysol wipes on hand -- the first for the butt, the latter for the McDonald's bench the child just peed on.

I have a couple of favorite lines from this potty training adventure. The first was said the first time Sweet Boy peed without a diaper on, months ago: "Mommy, what did my weenie do?!" It's the eternal question, really.

And the second was today, while we were playing at the playground and I asked him for the 20th time if he had to pee, he finally looked at me and said, "No, mommy. I just already pee-peed," which is about the time I noticed the wet spot spreading down his pants legs. Sometimes you just have to giggle so as not to completely lose your marbles.

Which brings me to a whole new pondering: How many things do we come into contact with daily that have been peed or pooped on without our knowledge? I mean, in this first diaper-free week, my son has already peed on the YMCA floor (twice), the sandbox at the playground (and I'm not telling you which one!), and the Shoprite grocery cart. The third time I had the wipes handy, but not the first two...I apologize, truly, but I am a novice.

We're getting there, Sweet Boy and me. I remain hopeful that someday we'll both be fully trained.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Grace happens

Today Honey's roommate in room 364 at Maine Medical Center was discharged. Some other day I'll tell you about why Honey is in the hospital again, but this story is about the roommate because it's way more interesting. Let's call him Elton, because all I really know about him is he plays guitar in an Elton John tribute band and he's originally from the very northern part of England, bordering Scotland. (Or as Honey described it, "that place in England where the Roman Empire decided, nope, those Celts are crazy, and put up a wall.")

Elton was in room 364 before Honey arrived, and what struck me immediately, besides his delightful accent and soothing Liam-Neeson-esque voice, was his gentle, good-natured manner. He was going through heck from a botched surgery and compartment syndrome - pain and gore and fear of losing the use of his dominant hand - yet he spoke kindly and softly to every person who came into his room. Every time a nurse walked in, Elton gree…

Boardwalk ghosts

“Imagine this, buddy, in the middle of summer, especially near the Fourth of July. Wall to wall people, just sort of moving in and out of each other. Flashing lights. Loud music. Screams from Morey’s Pier, laughter on the swirly rides. Oh...and the food...ice cream, funnel cake, fudge, cheese steaks, pizza, fries...the smells alone would drive you nuts!” 
It’s 5:00 on the evening before his Nana’s funeral, and we’re standing in a windy drizzle on an empty Wildwood boardwalk. My mind has flashed back to the summer of 1991, when I spent a week here with my best friend. Wicked sunburn. Tandem bike adventures. Water slides. Thrill rides. A ground-shaking thunderstorm. Friendship bracelets. College guys taking showers outside. Ice cream and VCR movies every night.

Back in the here-and-now I’m trying to explain to Zippy what this place is like when it’s not October. He’s been to Rehoboth and Ocean City and Old Orchard Beach, but none of those come anywhere close to Wildwood in peak season.…

#WhyIMarch

Zippy and I hiked in the woods the other day, following the icy trails around Evergreen Cemetery. The cold air stung our eyes but the sun shone warm and bright, and it felt great to breathe fresh air. As he skipped and hopped and twirled beside, in front, and around me, I felt peaceful, happy, content. Until I realized the Womens' March is in a few days, I am going, and I don't know what to expect. I've never done anything like this, except for a few years ago at Occupy Philly, which was nothing compared to the numbers they're anticipating this weekend. The Women's March will be a peaceful protest, yes, but 200,000 is an awful lot of people in highly charged city during turbulent times. I felt anxiety creeping into my chest.

"So you know I'm going away this weekend, right? To Washington, D.C. For just two sleeps. Do you know why I'm going?" I asked Zippy.
"Because you don't like Donald Trump and he's going to be the President."
&…