The other day when I was watching J and C, a new development in the J vs. Sawa war on potty unfolded. Here’s how it went down. I had just positioned myself on the brown sofa, baby in arms, to deliver a much desired bottle to C. He was getting a little on the fussy side (a rarity for him) so I knew it was time to feed. He took the bottle like a champ. I was in the middle of patting his sweet, round back in hopes of a burp when suddenly he spit up all over the front of my shirt. Great. Oh well…at least infant vomit doesn’t have an odor.
I was still in shock of the spit up when notice J across the room. He had been stationed at the dining room table (pre feed) to enjoy a snack of “peanut butter crackers” and sliced pears before I sat down to feed C. I find this an effective sitting technique: feed both children at once, that way I can see the antsy 3 year old while I hold baby C in bottle position on the couch. It tends to work out for me.
At first, I couldn’t even be sure that I had heard J say something, but the look on his face told me he had made an announcement. I said, “What J? I couldn’t hear you.”
The slightest, breathiest whisper escaped his lips: “I don’t have to go.” Then his face went into number two production mode. I knew it was on, and it was up to me to race him to the training toilet downstairs. Swiftly, I set C in his swing (didn’t have time to strap him in….don’t call CPS on me por favor) and ran to the table. J let out a telling grunt as I plucked him from his seat and flew to the bathroom, toddler in hands. As quickly as possible, I unbuttoned his pants to sit him on the pot.
The stench that escaped his batman underwear told me that I was too late. To late to intercept the load. I was bummed, but threw him in the shower for a quick spray down and gave him a fresh pair of underwear and shorts to put on. Not wanting to appear disappointed or upset with the young boy, I lied through my smile as I redressed him, “It’s totally ok J. You’re doing great. We’ll get it next time.” And miracle of miracles, we did get it next time. But only because of my boss negotiation skills. Yesterday, number two was safely deposited in the mini-john. Hooray!
I do have to give it to the kid. He sticks to his convictions. Some may label it “denial” because he said he didn’t have to go poo when he was on the verge of doin’ the doody in his trousers. But I prefer to call it conviction. This little dude has learned the American way: stick it to the man, no matter what situation you’re in. Maybe he’ll learn wisdom and honesty someday. We can only hope.
