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Pinned down in potty training hell
Monday, June 18, 2007 
For over year, Lil E has dabbled in self-motivation potty going. He's done it all there, happily sitting with his magazine and requesting "privacy, please" when he needs it.
After we got the book Everyone Poops, he laughed and laughed at the pictures and, apparently thinking that going to the bathroom on the toilet would liken him to the grown-up pictured in the book, he asked for a newspaper and a pipe when he had to poop.
It was funny and fun to see him asserting his independence, anxious to pee standing up and concerned about why and how I go differently than he does. When he began reporting in when he wet his diaper and once co-op ended, I thought the natural next step was to make the potty training official.
We were given a few books -- Potty Train Your Child in Just One Day and The No-Cry Potty Training Solution. I worked with Teri Crane, the author of the boot-camp style Just One Day book, and she is enthusiastic, confident and very sure her method will work if you follow it down to the letter (which is obviously P...oh gaw, save me from the toddler talk). The No-Cry book is more laid-back, outlining different methods for different kids with different levels of readiness, resistance and needs. I liked them both for their polar approaches and we decided to create a big Potty Party, fully immersing ourselves in the Just One Day approach, but adding in some of the ideas from the other book that would work better for us.
Saturday was the full-immersion Potty Party day, complete with stickers, M&Ms, presents, new undies for Lil E, undies for his baby doll "Tiger", an Elmo potty video, a promised miniature golf outing for that evening, a big dose of mama and papa enthusiasm, all on a sports theme. Bruce was amazing, a cheerleader who made every activity, on and off the potty, fun. Lil E was way into it.
He happily "trained" Tiger, played along with the doll undies and accepted the treats on Tiger's behalf. He danced around the potty poster and decorated it with stickers. He even got excited when it was his turn to put on new Elmo undies and read a golf magazine while he tried to go on the potty. He played along so well. Except one thing: He didn't go for 8-1/2 hours.
For almost nine hours, the boy pretended to pee and poop in the potty, watched and cheered as Bruce and I -- in an effort to (ugh) "model" -- each pee about twelve times each, collected "trying" treats and the whole she-bang. All of it. All of it but the sweet release.
Which, of course, came in the car after a long day with a short nap and a round of dizzying glow-in-the-dark putt-putt and about eighteen sippy cups of lemonade, apple juice and water. Wet wet wet. Pee and tears, all over himself, the towel underneath, the car seat and just missing Tiger.
An accident? No biggie, right? Of course not. Neither Bruce nor I care about cleaning the boy or car seat or carpets that fall victim to learning this new skill. It was the total meltdown and screaming to have the diapers back. It was the Holy Terror wailing, pissed off and pissed on toddler who's will was stronger than our plans, our hype, the presents, the posters, the parade into big-boydom.
It took an hour to calm him down enough to ease him into night-time training pants and many reminders between Bruce and I that no, we could not go back on our word to ditch the diapers. By the time the boy was finally calmed down and asleep in his crib with Tiger, also in pull-up pants, we were wiped out. Totally zapped.
We had some beers, we called some friends who trained (God love them) twins, we talked each other up. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
And then Sunday came. Early. At 6:15, Lil E started yelling for us. And he was not happy to wake up to face the potty again. And he was even unhappier with us. Father's Day took second place to our boy acting out, refusing to sit down at all anywhere and asking over and over which pants would "keep him safe." He had lots of accidents, lots more tears and lots more hating on the mommy and daddy heading up this whole horrible idea.
So here we are, Monday morning. In a slightly better place, a place where there's not a struggle to get the undies on but where even M&Ms aren't even a good bribe for trying to sit it out on the potty. In a place where I can only ask, prompt and clean up as needed. In a place where I was sorry to leave a babysitter in charge of it all for four hours while I worked today and also desperately happy to flush it all for a few hours.
We're only on Day Three and I feel like we've said everything we can say, pulled out every little gimmick we've been advised to try, checked in with every parent we know who has made it through. I know it takes time, I know this shall all eventually pass (and pass and pass and pass), I know all this stuff.
But I am tired and it pains me to see my happy, chatty boy so angry and stubborn. I won't give in. I won't give in . I won't give in. I won't give in.
But I also won't lie. This is hell. Exhausting, preoccupying, booze-beckoning, depleting, crazy hell where everyone obviously does not poop.
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