Potty training, once complete, is equal parts freedom and agonizing slavery to the closest bathroom.
Owen is a smart, albiet manipulative, cookie. Recently at bedtime he’s been claiming he has to poop. So I let him sit on the potty. This quickly turns into him doing everything possible to do that is not pooping. Toilet yoga, trying to brush his teeth from the sink, dipping his feet in the toilet bowl, you get the picture. I’m basically an artist of words. After 30-60 minutes of these increasingly ridiculous shenanigans I finally put him to bed. And he yells “I have to poop” over and over which slowly turns into loud, desperate yells of simply “POOP!!”
He’s the boy who cried wolf. But at least if the wolf boy wasn’t bluffing he would be eaten by a wolf. If Owen is not bluffing then I have to clean up poop. And that’s way worse. There’s no feeling quite like walking into the scene of a potty accident. It’s paralyzing fear mixed with a little denial as your brain slowly takes in the mess you’ll have to clean.
I wish you all the best of discernment as we enter this potty trained season together. (toilet emoji)