My day was bad. T.Puzzle was oh-so-defiant from the moment his feet hit the ground in the morning. This got old. Fast.
I continued to attempt to potty-train him. He has mastered peeing on the potty. He still will not poop on the potty. Fifty-percent just isn’t cutting it.
You may wonder why it is not. How about the twenty-seven loads of poop related laundry I’ve done in the past seven days for starters? Or, maybe the crying, the tears and anguish (I’m talking about me, now) that poop-smeared socks have caused.
I spent a good portion of my morning with T.Puzzle screaming and crying while sitting on the potty. After about an hour of this, I gave up. I took off his pants and decided to let it go. It is becoming too much of a struggle and we both are miserable. I hoped he would give some sort of signal that he was about to poop since he had no pants. He did not.
He pooped all over the floor.
I’m giving it one more chance. The next time he poops anywhere but a potty, we are going back to pull-ups.
Everyone has their two cents. Everyone has what worked for them. Everyone apparently has children who were miraculously potty-trained in two days.
I don’t want advice. I want help cleaning up all the mess that potty-training leaves behind.
I was so frustrated I had to put him to bed for a nap (he quickly fell asleep) and go sit out on the lanai. I felt so angry. I can’t believe history is repeating. Here I am, a perfectly nice lady, stuck with kid number two who refuses to do a number two. He most likely will be nearing four years old before he decides it’s time. Exactly like his brother before him. Ugh!!!
I called Mad Dog at work and let loose a tirade of frustration. He listened patiently and said, “You’ll break this one, too. You broke the first two (meaning himself and Full Speed), you can do it again.”
Until that happens, I have to let certain things go (like potty-training) and muster the strength to continue to battle it out with T.Puzzle (and keep Full Speed in check, too). Raising two boys is not a walk in the park. It’s more like a full-on sprint while dodging heavy, artillery fire (and poop, too!).