Potty training (and don't even talk about sleep training)

Shortly before Christmas I took the kids on a walk to look at Christmas lights. I looked at the calendar to figure out when it might have been, but nothing telling is listed. It was an evening that Andrew was coming home later than usual for some reason or another. Maybe it was the night he took the girls out to watch Star Wars...so maybe it was only me and the two little ones on the walk. I frankly can't remember (perhaps because it's 4:30 AM and I haven't been to bed yet because Zoë is a monster and my brain is completely malfunctioning).

Anyway, we walked down the street and around the corner and were nearly to the park when Benjamin pooped his pants. We'd just stopped to admire some of those weird light-up deer (you know the ones) when he just suddenly squatted in the middle of the road and started pushing.

"Do you need to go potty?" I asked.

"No!" he said.

"Are you pooping right now?" I asked.

"No!" he said.

"You are!" I gasped. "You're pooping! Why?! Why are you pooping right now?! Why would you do that?! Stop it right now! Stand up!"

I was rather angry about it because, as I recall, he'd pooped his pants a couple of days before while we were at the museum with my friend Emily (so, this second incident must have been Star Wars night) and I wasn't ready for another mess. We immediately turned around to go home.

"I'm not poopy, Mom," he said, waddling along beside me.

"I think you are," I said, observing the waddle.


"I'm not!"

"You'd better not be," I said.

"I'm not," he assured me.

Then a few minutes later he asked, "What if I'm just a little bit  poopy?"

"You'll get in trouble a little bit."

"What if I'm a lot bit poopy?"

"You'll get in trouble a lot."

"I think I'm a little bit poopy," he admitted.

"I thin you're a lot bit poopy," I said.

"I'm not," he said.

The poor boy could hardly walk and when we got home and I put the baby down so I could help him with his mess we found out that I was right. He had pooped a lot. I was so upset that I cried, which upset him. Making your mom cry isn't ever very fun. And he got in trouble besides that, too. So he was doubly upset. It was a bad night all around.

On New Year's Eve we went for The Last Walk of 2015, shortly after ringing in the New Year with Benjamin. We'd been discussing some resolutions we could make and when we got to the house with the lighted deer I snidely suggested that Benjamin vow to the deer that he wouldn't poop his pants once in the New Year.

He ended up yelling to the deer, "I WON'T POOP MINE PANTS EZZA EZZA 'GAIN!"

And for the past few weeks, he hasn't. In fact, he's taken the reigns of his pottying business. He's informing us when he has to go when we're out and about and when we're at home he's been taking himself. And it's been miraculous.

Before everyone packed up their Christmas decorations (we just finished taking our own lights down on Saturday), every time we walked by the house with the lighted deer Benjamin would renew his vow to the deer, "NO POOPING IN PANTS, DEER!" at the top of his lungs.

That deer has since been put away but it's going to be so proud of him when it comes out of hibernating in November.

The neighbours might think we're crazy (and only in part because of Benjamin's high-decibel level conversations with deer figurines) but I don't even care because my boy hasn't pooped in his pants for nearly three weeks. And more than that, I haven't had to drag him to the toilet kicking and screaming because, "trust me, you do have to poop." It's been such a fight for so long, but I think the war is ending.

I think he's fully potty trained.

During the day.

He's still wetting the bed occasionally.

But I can deal with that for a while a longer and still maintain my sanity.

Now if only I could get Zoë to sleep, like, ever.