Tuesday, November 27, 2012

TMI Tuesday #8

Today I thought I'd share a little thing I wrote for my creative writing class last semester


Stickers, Marshmallows, Erections and Other Three Year Old Boy Things. 

            It’s been a long time coming. I wanted to ignore it. But it came and went. My son’s third birthday.  My son who still has his diaper bulging through his pants, with friends who have long since potty-trained.  He was ready to ditch that diaper and put on his Buzz Light Year undies and face this big new world. He was ready to embark on the grand adventurous ride of the plastic dinosaur potty we had stashed in the bathroom closet. He was ready to spend a week sucking down CapriSuns, munching on fishy crackers, slurping down otter pops, eyes glued on Dora the Explorer 6am-6pm, all the while that plastic dinosaur potty looming in the peripheral.  My son, he was ready, but I was not. 
Day one:
            Commence crying fits and power struggles. By the end of the day we have achieved half of a pee that actually made it to the potty.  All else soaked the undies, creating a lot of laundry.  When it was discovered that Lightning McQueen’s face would never be legible again, that pair went straight to the trash. The before mentioned half a pee started a dance revolution throughout the household so energetic and excited that my son peed his pants.  How is that not a step backward?
            Note to self: encourage less jumping during the pee-pee celebration dance.

Day two:
             My son has discovered something just so hilarious about his penis. If he flexes his muscles a certain way…

            “Look, mommy! Dancing penis!”

After a few gleeful moments of this bopping dance, my son discovers something even more wonderful than before.

            “Look, mommy! Big penis!”
Reminder to self: Your son gets erections. He is just a little kid but it happens. In fact, it’s happened since he was 10 months old.  It’s biology, he can’t help it! Until now….
            Note to self: Try not to die of embarrassment when your neighbor comes over to borrow an egg and your son answers the door completely naked, erected penis spotlighted in the sun.  Just try….

Day three:
            Words have erupted from my mouth that have never been strung together before. 
            “Yay pee-pee! Pee-pee in the potty! Yay! Okay, go wash your hands, get a marshmallow and put a sticker on the potty sheet!”
We continue with the pee-pee song and dance which is portrayed as a naked march through the living room to words sung out in a rhythmic procession “Pee-pee in the potty, Pee-pee in the potty, Pee-pee in the potty!” Here I should note that my son is naked, not me.
            Note to self: You can’t have an ego and be a sufficient parent.  Learn to accept this fact. 
Day four:
            This is when I notice my son hasn’t pooped since day one.  I get worried. I start to follow him around.  I refuse to leave him alone for one second afraid he will ruin the multiple Wall-e’s printed across his butt. 

            “Diaper, mommy?”

            “Nope, you have to go poo-poo in the potty. No diapers, sorry kiddo”

            My phone rings. I chance a moment away, just a small moment...  Several days of salty snacks and sugary drinks creates a perfect urine recipe.  I have discovered this same recipe plays with the intestines and bowels in ways I had not known previously existed. 
            Note to self: Start saving to get the carpets professionally cleaned. Also, buy more underwear. 

Day seven:
            He’s graduated from the dinosaur potty to the actual toilet.  I exhale relief as I stash that potty away.  That potty grosses me out.  Flushable pee has brought new light to my previously yellow world.  And my son has honed his listening skills and knows when his body needs the facilities.

            “Diaper, mommy?”

            “C’mon, love. Please, just go poo-poo in the potty. It’s been days! You can do it. I’ll give you three marshmallows and triple stickers.” 

            20 full minutes of crying and threats later…

            “Look, mommy! Poo-poo in the potty! Poo-poo snake!”

Raucous dance celebration ensues. 
            Note to self: It’s okay for fecal matter to make you happier than you ever remember feeling… right?

            End of week one. 
# of retired pairs of undies-5
# of sticker sheets used-3
# of mini-marshmallow bags- 2
Price for carpet cleaners- $120
# of potty-trained 3 year olds in our home- 1
# of ecstatic pee-pee pleased parents- 2

Initiate celebration dance.


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