Sunday, October 03, 2010

The first rule of Poop Club...

The first rule of Poop Club is, "You do not talk about Poop Club."

The second rule of Poop Club is, "You do not talk about Poop Club."

The third rule of Poop Club is, "You do not talk about Poop Club."

3B and I actually got all the way up to rule seven like this tonight, amidst much giggling.

So, let me back up to this morning, when we were having an epic showdown at the O Crap Corral...

We were already extremely late, even for us, to brunch with friends who live far enough away that every time we drive out there I start humming "Country Roads," so it was going to take awhile to get there too. To be fair, it wasn't 3B's fault we were late--we were waiting for his sister to wake up to avoid a meltdown over muffins.

That's a long story too, but let's just say that Mama, Jewel and I haven't shared a full night's sleep since we got back from Grammy's house. So Jewel's nap conveniently gave us plenty of time to get 3B ready and finally have the throwdown that had been looming ever since we took away his diapers last Friday.

Since then, 3B has been timing his poops to fall whenever he knew we would have to put a diaper on him, which means quiet time (aka, sometimes-but-almost-never-naptime) and bedtime. This morning, however, he declared that he had to do his "privacy."

Don't ask how these names come up. Do what we do: nod your head and smile.

So I laid down the law: you can either poop here or at our friends' house, knowing that he'd never poop outside of our house. 3B rebutted: no, I'm pooping in a diaper. As I attempted to clean up and pack up, 3B and I fought this running battle...

Here or at our friends' house.

In a diaper.
Here or at our friends' house.

In a diaper.
Rinse, repeat.

Finally he offered: No, I'm not pooping in the potty. I'll poop in a bag.

Don't ask how these ideas come up. Do what I do: take advantage of the opportunity as if you were Gordon Gekko negotiating with a Girl Scout over a box of cookies.

My rebuttal: sure. You can poop in a bag. C'mon with me to the bathroom.

He hesitated for a moment, but realized that he'd lost this particular phase of the negotiation and headed for the bathroom. I grabbed the nearest plastic shopping bag and followed him in. I spread the bag out flat on the floor, pulled the bowl out of his Baby Bjorn potty, put the bowl in the bag and told him to go ahead and poop in the potty in the bag.

Because a negotiation never ends, it just changes phases, 3B threw down his terms: OK, but you have to leave the room, you can't come in until I come out, and you can't say anything about this. But I was ready for him, since these were the terms we agreed to when we were getting him to pee in the potty (or shampoo bottle).

My reply: OK. See you when you're done.

After closing the door, of course, I dropped to my belly in the hallway and peered under the door. Not much that I could see--fortunately, in a sense--so I retreated to the living room to trumpet my victory to Mama and prepare the Superfund site cleanup materials, not knowing how the whole pooping, wiping, dumping, flushing thing would work out.

Turns out it's nice to raise a retentive child.

When I went into the bathroom after he came out--saying nothing, of course...I am a man of my word--there was nary a sign that he'd been in there, aside from the smell. As a precaution, I wiped out the potty bowl...oh, and I put down the seat, of course.

By then, Jewel was awake so we got in the car and drove out to a delicious and fun brunch on a beautiful fall day. Mama and I realized that we were still redonkulously late, but we were in great spirits.

Not that we could talk about it, of course.



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4 comments:

  1. Okay that's awesome. I fear potty training. FEAR. IT.

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  2. I'd love to say that you shouldn't fear it...but you should. A lot.

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  3. That is the perfect rule for the poop club.

    Who knew how often as parents we'd be happy with "any means necessary" but really, sometimes, how you get there just does not matter as long as you get there, please, for the love of all things holy, just get there little people.

    Country roads. I like that one.

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  4. I am declaring war on poop

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