Jack is still not “completely trained” which is a nice Mommy Euphenism… what I mean to type is that Jack is “still soiling himself.” (Were I the Daddy, and not the Mommy, I’d type Jack is still “crapping his pants.”)
We haven’t pushed it (no pun intended). Our theory is that, in his own time, he’d decide that the little Mickey Mouse undies would be far more appealing than Size 4 Huggies. (Particularly because I made a solemn vow when Jack was tiny that I wouldn’t ever buy the Size 5 Huggies. They seemed akin to adult size diapers and it creeped me out… Consequently, the little man has been somewhat squeezed into his Size 4s each night.) Of all the battles we’ve endured and have in front of us– this one, this basic function of polite society, seemed the least worth fighting.
Everyone’s weighed in. Some of our friends and family are horrified that he’s yet “untrained.” We see it in their eyes even as we shrug it off. “He’s not going to college in a diaper. Eventually he’ll decide he’s ready,” became our mantra in these scenerios. (We used to say “kindergarten” but somewhere we gave ourselves a wider berth.)
And we’ve had plenty of useless advice:
“Give him m&ms!” (He won’t eat chocolate.)
“Take away a toy” (He shrugs and says goodbye to it and finds something else to do.)
“Don’t change his pants.” (He walked around one afternoon with an increasingly bloated Huggies until his little legs chaffed. And never complained.)
“Make him sit on the potty.” (This was our favorite. He sat there one day for nearly the whole day. Completely happy. Watched a movie on the portable DVD player, flipped through his train catalogs, ate lunch, and sang every song he knew… )
Jack is unbribable. As exasperating as that can be sometimes (bribable kids are easier. Think about it.) we can’t help but think that might hold him in good stead down the road. He’s not going to cave easily to pressure– whether it’s our’s or the idiot buddy that says, “Hey! let’s go joy riding in that car over there!”
And then came Adrian and Ed.
Adrian arrived first– he’s the newborn son of our best pals. Suddenly Jack was no longer the baby in our midst but a “great, big boy!” in light of tiny, mewing Adrian. Jack was somewhat disappointed that this long awaited little friend was somewhat incapacitated– Adrian’s not able to run and play and eat pizza like Jack can… but there was a glint in Jack’s eye of the realization of his own cababilities.
So, in the blink of an eye, Jack was casually mentioning to us, “I have to go to the bathroom” and then going off to urinate, flush, and wipe his hands.
Robby and I held our breath.
Ed came along this week. Inadvertently. Jack and I were home one afternoon this week and both of us were a little cross. I’d just changed his pants again. After he’d promised, “I’ll tell you when I have to go potty, Mommy. I promise.” I went back to reading a book and Jack went back to playing with his toys. We have steam radiators in the house and they tend to pop and hiss and clink. Jack can go weeks without noticing the sounds then have a day where he needs to be reassured that “it’s just the furnace, sweetie. It’s okay.” But this day I was distracted. I was in the middle of reading The Reader by Bernard Schlink and so when Jack paused in his play to ask, “Mommy! What’s that?! Mommy!” I didn’t look up from my book and said, “That’s the monster that bites small boys in the popo when they poopoo in their pants.” (Yes, I know, Tolstoy only wishes he’d written that sentence.)
Jack: “What? A monster? It’s not the furnace?”
Worst Mommy Ever: “His name is Ed.”
Jack’s little face went white and his lip started to tremble. I closed my book. He burst into tears, “I don’t want Ed to bite my popo Mommy!” I started to laugh. Because, really, Ed is quite possibly the poorest name for a monster… and it was all rather ridiculous. “Jack– it’s okay. I was kidding. There’s no Ed. There’s no monster. Mommy was being silly. It’s just the furnace baby.”
But he didn’t believe me.
So now, suddenly, we have a kid that runs to the bathroom when he needs to poo. That Ed is pretty effective.
Yesterday I had to go to a funeral so Jack was going over to play at the grandparents. “Let’s go potty before we go, okay?”
Clever Jack: “I’ll go potty at Grandlady’s house”
Clever-er Mommy: “Ed knows where they live.”
Jack ran. RAN. to the bathroom where he promptly shat. Three times in the space of a half hour.
I’m torn. I should put a stop to this. Somehow prove that there is no Ed.
Ed is growing. At our pals’ last night Ed took on a shape and size. Apparently Ed has been spotted before– and the glimpses show that his head is all teeth. No lips. So he drools and makes a horrid sucking sound when he uses a straw. Robby and Chris exchanged Ed stories while Jack played nearby and I shushed them, guilty that I’d started it all.
Yet, really, teeth and all, Ed isn’t so bad. I’m not sure which I feel worse about– giving a name to Jack’s worst fears or taking this long to give a name to Jack’s worst fears…
Because, and still holding our breaths, we may be on our way to those Mickey Mouse undies yet.
