Poop Memoir #1

Partners in crime. Poop crime that is.

Rounding out the end of week three of potty training my 3 1/2 year old twin daughters has had it’s ups and downs. At the beginning they did very well. Of course there were a few pee accidents that travelled all the way down to their tennis shoes which required washing and drying and tears because they couldn’t wear them for a day. But, poop went in the potty.

Then, there was the regression phase. Daughter number 1 began holding her poop and being in such severe pain I decided to follow what all the experts say and just let her have a diaper or pull up to get the poop out. The problem with this is that then she will keep the pull up or diaper on and become dependent on it. Then Daughter number 2 saw her sister using diapers and wanted them too now, even though she was doing really well on her own.

After doing well for a few days, then Daughter number 2 just took to pooping in her pants. She wouldn’t wear underwear, but was ok without a diaper or pull up, so of course it usually fell out of her shorts and onto the floor. One time, I even stepped on it amidst the clean up with my sandal. I couldn’t get the smell out, so had to toss them in the garbage. I really miss those sandals…

After that incident and nearly two weeks, I went against the expert advice and told my girls that was it. I was at my last nerve and we were doing this. We were all in. So, no more diapers. No more pull ups. Underwear at all times, even at bedtime. One daughter thankfully stays dry all night while the other is 50/50, which adds to the laundry load. If you have a child that wets the bed, you know what I am talking about: exhaustion of the laundry and bed making cycle.

So, Daughter number 1 was back to holding her poop. She did not want to go in the potty. Again, going against expert advice, I refused to put a diaper on her. As she ran around in circles after dinner one night clutching her bottom screaming and crying as she tried to hold it in, I again, went against expert advice and forced her to sit on the potty. Luckily she didn’t fight too much. She tried to stand, I held her legs down. She told me to quit it and I told her to quit standing up until her poop came out. So, she sat and screamed and cried while I went to clean her underpants and make her brother’s bed who also has a night time issue (ie. exhaustion of the laundry and bed making cycle times two).

When I came back, she was standing still screaming and crying but a bit better. I opened the lid to the potty and there was the poop. She did it. She did it before and for whatever reason, regressed, and then she did it again BECAUSE I MADE HER. I was relieved. I was holding back tears myself as I questioned my instincts as they went against all expert advice of empathy about the potty. I was just happy she got it out and wasn’t in pain any longer. I had run out of empathy and frankly cannot muster up enough for all four of my kids all of the time. It’s impossible.

My life is filled with bodily fluids and solids of my offspring. I can write a book of memoirs accounting the outrageous shitty situations I’ve been in literally.

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