Another poopy post

Recently, an acquaintance called me at work in a panic, because the daycare facility they send their daughter to called them to say that if their 3-yr old daughter didn't stop having accidents of the #2 variety by the end of the month, they were going to have to give her slot away to someone on the daycare waiting list. She went on to tell me that she was at wit's end since she'd been trying as hard as a working parent could (you basically only have the weekends for consistant training and then whatever progress you've made tends to be out the window after Monday). Empathetic though I was, I didn't know why I was being called about it - we hardly see or speak to each other regularly - when she told me had read my blog on the topic of potty training back on my MySpace page a while back, and she thought I might be able to give her some advice.

Considering my approach might be deemed by some as potentially life-scarring, the idea that I'm being solicited for advice is pretty comical.

So... to help any other parents out there to literally scare the crap out of their children or to make them hold it in for life, below is a recycled, lazy re-post.

BEWARE THE POO DOCTOR
First of all, I made it pretty clear by the title what we're gonna be discussing here, so save yourself now if you're one of those people that get really grossed out by talking about one of the funniest topics ever no matter what your age, race or gender, and by that I am of course referring to poo.

For the past year and a half I've struggled with the most daunting parenting task which, knock on wood, might finally be coming to an end. I am convinced that far worse than dealing with teen angst or even the big puberty or sex conversation - is trying to convince a 3-year old boy (at least, MY 3-year old boy) to stop shitting himself.

As my mother will be more than happy to point out to any one who will listen, this is called "karma". Admittedly, I have clear memories of standing in the corner of my family room behind my toy basket, red in the face, gripping the basket rim for dear life, and absolutely flat-out denying that I was up to anything. It honestly had very little to do with a reluctance to climb aboard a toilet. I believe it was my little adorable way of asserting my personality traits from an early age –procrastination til the absolute last moment, and sheer laziness.

My little guy, on the other hand, not only seems to have inherited the procrastination gene, but has also gotten so used to bending over couches and coffee tables while standing up, that he simply cannot physically fathom how to "sit down" with his legs dangling and make something happen.

He KNOWS pooping in his pull-ups isn't the thing to be done. You usually know he's done it because he'll climb out from under a table where he was "just hiding", walk over to you like Mr. Bean with his butt shoved out awkwardly and say "Don't say eww, okaaayyyy?"

Being that he was only 3 year old still wearing pull-ups in his daycare class, we decided to step up potty training to the next level. We'd already been sitting him on the toilet for ages, (I cannot tell you how many mornings and evenings have seen me sitting on the bathroom floor for upwards of an hour stroking his back and singing a peppy little "Poo Poo on the Potty" ditty I invented for the occasion), talking about it, reading books about it, etc. Now we needed SOMETHING MORE.

SOMETHING MORE'S WHICH DEFINITELY DID NOT WORK:

Attempt 1 - THE POTTY BOX
I decorated a shoe box with construction paper. On the inside of the box it said:
PEE PEE FOR STICKERS!
POO POO FOR PRIZES!
Inside the box were about a dozen small toys (prizes, i.e., bribery) which I wrapped in SpongeBob Squarepants wrapping paper.
He was alllll about pee pee for stickers. He definitely coveted the prizes, but no way in hell was he gonna poop for them. Eventually to motivate him I started trying to catch him mid-poop and race him to the toilet. Whatever he'd been working on would drop into the toilet and I'd make a big fuss over him and give him a prize.
Unfortunately, rather than motivate him to go on the toilet from the start, he'd just shit himself, try and empty his diaper into the toilet after, and then start unwrapping presents.

Attempt 2 – SHAME AND DISCOMFORT
When Dylan assumed his traditional "poop stance" we'd ask if he needed to go potty. If he said no, we'd let him do what he was doing…but then act like we were dying from disgust. We'd pinch our noses, yell EWWWW! and GROSSS! and then if he came near us say "ewww you pooed in your pants like a baby. Big boys go on the potty!"
He thought this game was hysterical fun, and would run around laughing, pretending to sniff his own butt and shouting "Ewww!"
Someone suggested I make him sit in it for a while. It seemed a little cruel, but it's true he wasn't really suffering any consequences with me changing him right away. So a few mornings I actually brought him to school with a post-breakfast load in his pants. One night I even took him shopping to Target with me when he'd clearly gone in his pants. After we finished shopping (and I'd suffered over an hour almost gagging from the stench) I asked, "How do you like sitting in your poo poo?"
"I like it!" He replied with gusto.
"Noooo you don't. It's yucky. You want your butt to be clean."
"Noooo! I like sitting on my poo. It's my favorite." He cheerfully replied.

Not really the reaction I was looking for. I just didn't know where to go from there.

Finally, one night while I was away my husband in a fit of desperation decided to try the one thing we hadn't – fear. Dylan hates the doctor, so a few times we'd mentioned if he didn't go potty on the toilet we'd have to take him to the doctor and find out why. It didn't really have an effect though. Dave thought maybe if Dylan just had a VISUAL reinforcement he'd be motivated.
So, he pulled out our Dogma DVD, flipped through the scenes and played the scene with the "Shit Demon".


"This is the Poo Doctor, Dylan" Dave told him.
"I don't like the Poo Doctor!" Dylan said.

I was horrified at first that Dave had done this. It didn't really seem like "nurturing parenting", but on the other hand, we were desperate. I thought it could either make or break it.
The next day, Dylan shat himself again. "Oh no Dylan." I said. "You know this means I'll have to call the Poo Doctor."
"But I don't like the Poo Doctor!" Dylan cried.
"I wish you thought of that before you pooped your pants. I'm sorry." I said.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Someone campaigning for a local politician. Dave answered the door.
"Who's that?!!" Dylan said as I cleaned him up, panicked. I could tell who he feared it was just by the look in his eyes.
"Oh no!" I said. "The Poo Doctor – he knows you pooped your pants! He knows when EVERYONE poops their pants!"
"Nooooooooo!" He wept. I gotta say I felt like a piece of shit myself, for tormenting him, but I was invested in making this work. "I will poo poo on the potty forever!" He begged.

"Daddy!" I shouted out towards the front door, "Do not let the Poo Doctor in the house! Dylan said he promises to poop on the potty forever!"
Dave caught on, and came into the room. "I sent the Poo Doctor away. He was very stinky and I didn't want him dirtying up our floors. You're lucky Dylan."

Since then, as wrong as it may be, we've been happily pooping ever after. There is no mention of the Poo Doctor, just happy, joyous toilet turds. This morning, he went to school FINALLY wearing big boy underwear.

"Mommy, I make you very very happy because I go poo poo on the toilet now" he said to me in the car this morning.

Sigh. Stinky and annoying as it may have been, there goes one more piece of being a baby. He's getting so big. And, as he'll proudly boast, "my poop is HUUUUUGE!"