Baby P.I.M.P

Don’t go getting all bawdy on me.

It’s not what you think.

I actually sorta wish it were.

Because instead of this…

funny, cuteness.

We are over here stuck in the throws of potty training Hell and I don’t have time for comedy or crassness (who am I kidding, there is ALWAYS time for a little crass?!).

For the duration of this urine-soaked-feces-stained adventure, we will be referring to #3 as Baby P.I.M.P not because of his well developed backhanding abilities, or his commitment to outlandish hats.

In this case P.I.M.P does not refer to an agent for prostitutes who lives off their earnings (you know, I love Wikipedia, I really do).

In our house P.I.M.P refers to Party In My Pants, instead of in the potty as it should be.

Because in the last week Baby P.I.M.P has peed in every room on the first level of my home and at least 50% of the upstairs area as well.

Additionally, he has dropped a turd (well, technically I dropped it as I sprinted to the bathroom with him in my arms, butt exposed to the world) in my basement and in my kitchen, or my hallway, or…

Not really sure exactly where the second one was produced, but it fell out of his pants leg (and rolled into a corner) somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom.*

Point is at the moment I am feeling both exhausted and filthy.

My house smells like the subway and I’m sick to death of chasing naked Baby P.I.M.P all over the place to prevent a spot marking incident.

At the moment the only positive is that there is hope that I will soon be saying buh-bye to diapers.

As you may know I am/was a part-time cloth diapering mama.

I use the things when I’m home (Dumb Dad categorically refused to use the things claiming they are well beyond his scope of parenting).

I can’t claim to be a staunch naturalist in this (or any) regard, but I would scream their praises from the rooftops (if I had a stable rooftop to climb upon and a rapt audience at my disposal).

They are awesome for all of the reasons people say they are…less diaper rash, easier on the wallet, better for the environment, not really as hard as they used to be, so stinking cute it’s ridiculous.

But, there was one little element that I hadn’t prepared for…they stink!

Like for reals.

Fonk-key.

#3 is actually The Baby Previously Known as Bus Station Booty, because I swear those things were as nasty smelling as a homeless-man-inhabited bus station stairwell.

So Dumb Dad started calling him Bus Station Booty.

I know it probably had a lot to do with my under performance in the cloth diaper cleaning department, but I swear I tried.

I sprayed them down with the hose after every soiling, I let them soak in a bucket of bacteria friendly water, I washed them twice in our high powered washing machine, on the sanitizing cycle, I hung them outside to dry, hoping the fresh air would seal out the ugly.

No dice.

Still stank.

So, I’m happy to send them on the road and graduate him to chonies.**

Because we are also part-time pull-up avoiders.

We use them when we are not home.

Otherwise we don’t.

Which is why my entire house has been touched by bodily waste.

Because I can’t always catch him.

Sometimes I am tied up talking on the phone checking my email stuffing my face while I hide in the garage cooking dinner.

And then he creeps off to a secret location and unleashes the dragon.

Even though he got this shiny wonder of potty training awesomeness***…

Yep, it’s a Baby Bjorn Smart Potty (which I think means it is guaranteed to lead to potty training success, right?).

But, Mr. I’ll-pee-where-I-want-and-you-can’t-stop-me still acts all put out about doing his naughty on the potty…

I mean, I don’t get it, it looks comfy enough (I considered trying it for the sake of doing a full review, but figured I’d probably shatter it).

I can attest that it has a removable potty-catching part (which is way awesome) that is easy to use (kids around here earn their keep, man, no free rides!)…

And, you can use it for tons of other stuff cool stuff too…

Point is you’d think he’d be happier about making deposits.

But he’s not.

So. I’ve decided to regroup.

Take a different approach and get everyone (and by everyone I pretty much just mean P.I.M.P) on the same peeing-on-the-floor-is-evil page.

A list, perhaps?

Personally, I always make them when trying to decide on the best course of action (and when Mama Kat tells me to!).

So, Baby P.I.M.P.

To convince you…

10 Reasons Giving Up Diapers Will Make You More Awesome

1. Buh-bye bus station booty.

2. No need to hold still for diaper changes (not that you ever did this anyway).

3. Diarrhea up your back will end forever (to be replaced by diarrhea down your leg, but still).

4. You can play in the potty bathroom with your brothers.

5. You can participate in the unsanctioned activities as described above in #4 and get in trouble just like they do. That will make you a bad a$%. Girls like that.

6. You will no longer have to sneak off to do your business (no more crouching behind the couch and batting at me like an injured raccoon).

7. You can get cool character chonies like Bruver and Wee (#3’s nickname for #2).

8. You can dress yourself like you want (seriously, I don’t care if you wear snow boots and board shorts everyday for the rest of your life just PEE. IN. THE. POTTY!).

9. I’ll give you candy (and other stuff) with the extra cash we save on diapers and wipes and pee-in-your-pants paraphernalia.

10. I’ll like you better.

See?!

Doesn’t this sound like a better way to live?

Happier? Healthier? Hotter?

You can’t be hot in a foul smelling cloth diaper with diarrhea up you back.

But this…

This is HOT!

Or, at least it will be once we work out the particulars.

So stop acting all hostile when I ask you if you need to use the potty.

Stop lurking around behind the couch and in the pantry.

No more lying about if you went (the neighbors can smell it so, really, why bother?).

I know you don’t want to be potty trained.

But I’m telling you it’s for the best.

It may not feel like it now, but when you’re successfully wearing big boy pants at school like all of the other kids you’ll be glad we did this.

And yes, you can THANK ME LATER!

Link is down there. Hook it up.

*Blessing in disguise is that his turds are like little rocks because he’s constipated himself by holding it in so long. He is strangely freaked out about dropping the kids off at the pool, but as long as he’s wearing underwear he refuses to let loose in those either. So, he holds it, for as long as he physically can, at which point his sphincter gives out and a turd tumbles free. It’s a little bit sad actually.

**Chonies- Mexican for underwear:)

***It was free because I’m a super cool Baby Bjorn Believer which basically means I love them and they love me right back. Ours is red though so it’s even more snazzy and gorgeous. You are welcome to choose from any of the other colors they have:)

Wordful (I hate the potty) Wednesday

So last week I dedicated a post to the pros and cons of potty training Mister I-wanna-go-peepee-in-da-potty-only-all-I-do-is-sit-there-and-then-pee-in-random-corners-of-Mommy's-house-the-minute-I-get-up (aka #3).

He was excited to start...



He's been exhibiting some textbook ready-to-potty-train characteristics: staying dry long periods, noticing when he's doing his business, following instructions well (at least when he feels like it), and showing an interest in all things potty (evidenced by his desire to sit on the crapper for 75% of his day).

He really seemed to enjoy it at first...



But, last week's attempts also pointed out a few obstacles we have encountered: he wants to sit but not perform (a classic example of sh** or get off the pot syndrome in action here), he is having a hard time notifying me about action in the "bull pen" before the action officially jumps off (meaning he pees and then sends out the alarm), and he has turned into a bit of a boy-who-cried-Wolf when it comes to announcing his need to use the facility (meaning, he eagerly shouts that he "need-a go potty, Mommy" when he wants to get outta time out, get up from the table, or get my undivided attention) only when we get there, as I mentioned before, nothing.

He's become quite frustrated with his progress to date...



And, to be frank, so have I.

He's starting to find the entire experience harrowing...



Horrifying...



And, sad. I think he's a little, okay a lot, fed up with the whole process...



And, since I'm going to Vegas tomorrow anyway, I guess we'll both enjoy a bit of a break from the potty demon and revisit the issue when I return.

It's Potty, It's Potty Time

Or, is it?

I just don't know.

#3 is creeping up on 21 months.

He's the size of a 2 year old.

He talks like a 3 year old.

But, he still handles his "business" like a 1 year old.

Which I'm fine with.

Totally, completely, 100% FINE with.

I mean, don't get me wrong, there are plenty of things I'd rather be doing than plunging up to my elbows in child made feces a few times a day.

And, I'm considering giving it a real go just to get the obsessed-berating-in-my-day-ride-you-till-you-break Mimi monkey off my back.

She's filled to overflowing with tips, tricks, comments, and well meaning (but tiresome) advice about when and how one should potty train a toddler.

It's not that her suggestions bother me, it's more that she's sorta beating a dead horse (dead horse being me) on this one, as I've successfully potty trained two older children I'm really not in the market for advice on the subject.

After trying two distinct methods: potty train by a certain age v. potty train when the child is definitely ready to be successful I've come to the conclusion that I'll do it when I'm he's ready.

I'm not one of those people who can be consistent for long periods of time. I don't work out consistently, I don't eat healthy consistently, I don't clean my house consistently.

I'm more of a kick girl; workout kicks, diet kicks, cleaning kicks.

Sad? I'm sure.

True? Unquestionably.

Knowing this, I'm not sure why potty training would be any different?

I just can't keep at it for months on end, with regressing, and rebelling, and all that junk.

With #1 I succumbed to the Mimi Master (he was my first, she was my Mr. Miyagi).

He took months to train. He'd do well for a day or two and then randomly piss all over himself (and numerous corners of that house) the next.

Then he got the liquids under control only to be thwarted by the solids.

He would sneak off to various hiding spots (the pantry, the closet, under the table, etc) to do his dirty.

Can't find the baby?

Must be taking a crap.

And, should you happen to locate him in the midst of his "lightening" he would get seriously peeved (which for him meant he staged a nonviolent sit-in wherein he resisted being relocated to the bathroom by use of the dead weight strategy).

#2 entirely different story.

I waited until he was two and a half, I brought out the supplies, I gave him the instruction manual, and in less than 7 days he was workin' that potty chair.

So, with #3, I'd planned to ignore Mimi's badgering entirely utilize Plan B (aka the sit and wait strategy).

Until he came up with an alternate plan.

We'll call this Plan #3: Operation Teach Yourself.

It was devised entirely by #3 because the extent of my potty training up to this point involved me sitting him on the pot before his bath just to get him outta the way while I filled the tub.

But, a coupla days ago, after an unforgettably-rotten-cloth-diaper-ruining deuce I had words with him.

Me: Seriously, Kid. This is bad business. We need to talk about you using the potty.
#3: Umhm, Mommy.
Me: No, really. *Gag*. This is insane Dude, what did you eat? You smell like a grown man down here.
#3: I tinky Mommy? My poopy tinky?
Me: Understatement, Buddy. Your poopy foul. Your poopy reeks.
#3: *Clapping* My poopy tinky. *Forces out a fart for emphasis.
Me: Do you think you could go in the potty instead? When you feel it low down in your tummy, you gotta tell Mommy your tummy hurts and you gotta go potty. Can you do that for me kiddo? Tell me when you feel it and we'll hurry up to the pot. Kay?
#3: Kay, Mommy. Peepee in potty. I peepee in potty.
Me: Actually, you don't, but it would be awesome if you did, kay?
#3: Kay, Mommy.

I strapped on his brand new, fancy shmansy Bumkin All-in-One diaper that we recently received for review (which we love by the way, but we are not huge fans of the two piece deal because it slips and slides around a bit trying to keep up with Action Jackson over here).

Hours later, little man is outta the bath and I'm about to zip him in the jams for the night when outta nowhere Smarty Pants Baby says, "In my tummy, go peepee".

I'm perplexed. I question him, he repeats, I consider ignoring, I decide that would be wrong, I drag him to the potty where low and behold...

THE KID PEED.

IN THE POTTY.

ON HIS OWN.

WTH?!

We had a huge Peepee in the Potty Party (read, I ran around the house teary eyed screaming @ top of lungs that praise is in order while other family members halfheartedly shared in my enthusiasm and/or ignored me completely).

Next day, I'm reluctant, but I decided to capitalize on this little gift from above.

I roll out the training undies (I'm convinced that Pull Ups, especially the feel and learn sort, were invented my Satan).

I drag the baby potty outta the garage.

Set it all up, introduce him to it, and get ready for the magic.



After at least 18 uneventful trips to the potty (I think he might have just wanted to check out the sights), he peed on my floor once and in the oven of his play kitchen twice (at least he knew to put it somewhere).

I don't consider this progress by any stretch of the imagination, and now I'm not sure what to do: keep letting him drag me to the potty for exploration and toilet papering or throw in the towel temporarily until both of us are a little more into it?