Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Am I done?

This morning I hear, "Mommy, I need to go potty." The only time Gavin ever says he has to go potty is when he's gone in his pants. Pretty much, what he means is "Mommy, I already went potty!"
He pooped in his underwear...again! In lieu of an over share, let's just say it was the kind that makes you throw the underwear away. So, we sat him on the toilet to finish. (Am I supposed to be pleased that at least he stops and does the rest on the toilet? I am not sure.) I was so frustrated and I have tried so many things to help him understand that this is NOT okay. SO MANY!!! Instead of succumbing to the overwhelming urge of completely freaking out and giving a 15 minute lecture, accompanied some sort of horrid punishment to my three year old, I finally, just got him dressed and sat him on top of the toilet seat to "Think about where the poo-poo goes."
I then proceeded to stomp around the house thinking about ways to explain, enforce and ensure that the poo-poo does in fact, end up in the potty. After the clean up session, I slammed the washing machine shut, washed my hands and headed back, still not sure of my plan, but ready to do battle. Then I rounded the corner and saw Gavin. Sitting on the toilet, bedhead in full force, tractor shirt with wet spots from washing his hands, swinging his bare feet back and forth and singing a song to himself. He looked up with his wide innocent eyes, "Umm, are you done mom?"
Am I done? Yes, I guess this is about me...this child knows me too well. He was done the minute he finished going potty. In his three year old mind, it was over long ago. Me? I need 15 minutes of stomping around the house and what did it get me? It got me a three year old who isn't sitting there thinking about where potty goes, but instead thinking he has to wait out his mom's tirade. Awesome.
"Yes, I am done Gavin."
We still had a discussion about where the potty goes. And to be honest...most days it does go in the potty. If I remind him, because he still needs help. And when I picture my sweet boy with his bed head sitting there looking up at me, knowing me well enough to sit quietly singing, while he waits for mommy to cool down, I am thankful he still needs me. Even if it is to remind him the pop-poo goes in the potty and to take him screaming and kicking all the way there to try.

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