Poop in the potty!

So back in October there was mention of a minor victory in the potty training campaign. Our generals must have grown overconfident with the early win, or fallen for what may have been simple ruse laid down beautifully by the crafty adversary, because there was a long stretch of nothin’ after that. Linnaea got to the point where it seemed she was scared of the toilet. I’m pretty sure that I read somewhere that if you have to physically pick up a screaming child who is trying to repel herself from the plumbing fixture and force her onto the seat that you are not going to have good results with the potty training thing.

The generals began to think that perhaps the toilet itself was the culprit, with its shadowy currents, clammy breath, and loud vacuous roar. Perhaps the child feared for her person, her bottom seated so vulnerably above the gaping maw. So I suggested we get a potty chair – something a wee bit less dangerous. That was better. But again, it didn’t take long before she was resistant to the notion of sitting even on the potty. Stymied.

Then our friends, whose child is about a year older than Linnaea, who were having similar problems subverting their son to the ways of the toilet, posted about a clever reward system that they proposed to their offspring. Guitar Hero for using the potty!! That rocks! Linnaea is a little young for Guitar Hero. Though she really likes it, it just doesn’t have the motivational pull for her as it does for Lil’daddy. What would work for Linnaea…?

M&Ms, that’s what.

So there is a bag of candy in the bathroom. For the two-year old. Great parents, huh? But it works. And ask any parent who has ever lived: with children, quite often the end justifies the means. The first full day that we employed Plan M, our forces tallied an unblemished record (except for a poopy diaper). All attempts at peeing in the potty were successful and the same diaper (except for the one noted above) was worn throughout the day. It looked as if we would soon be able to kick one child’s expensive diapers to the curb.

But alas, day two was fraught with inconsistency. Many attempts were made at using the potty, but mostly after having just soiled the diaper. Therefore attempts were met with limited success. But our reward system paid out one unit for trying (remember the screaming), one more for peeing, a bonus for a dry diaper (if there was pee in the potty), and four for poop (in the potty). So while no day that followed was quite as successful as that first, the girl was actually using the potty for its intended purpose, and was finally becoming cognizant of her bodily functions and what she was suppose to be doing about them.

Last week she started telling us – unsolicited – she needed to use the potty before going in her diaper. A phenomenal change. What this attitude led to, was Linnaea using the upstairs toilet. When we first acquired the potty seat for the toilet, we got two, one for each of our bathrooms. But the second had just been collecting dust (okay, the first one had been as well). The point being, we were prepared to sit her on the other toilet, and didn’t need to run her downstairs and potentially neutralize the momentum. The upstairs bathroom is tiny. Partly because it’s a half-bath, but also because its volume is truncated by the roof, which slopes through one wall. I cannot tell you how many times I have banged my head into the ceiling standing up from cleaning out the litter boxes. But each time there is much loud gnashing of teeth. I digress.

The upstairs bathroom, partly exotic because Linnaea is rarely allowed in there because of the litter boxes, is apparently not unlike a cozy cave. At least to the eyes of a two-year old. On two occasions now, after being left alone in the privacy of the more Linnaea-sized bathroom, she has produced poop in the potty! The first time she would get up, open the door, and show Mater the produce of her efforts after each tiny piece. Last night, after already having peed in the toilet, when asked if she wanted to poop in the potty, she smiled, waved us out, and got to work. And there was poop. And it was very good.

Wish us luck that this progress will continue and become entrenched in the girl’s routine. Maybe the Easter Bunny can hide some underwear in the eggs this year…