Don't get me wrong. We were healthy (mostly). Happy (mostly). But in terms of two little tiny people living in a little tiny universe. . .we had big changes.
Bill went back to work full time. They went to daycare full time. Till's officially entered her terrible-two's. Cole is still terrible in his four's. We still live with my parents. That's still as terrible as you remember me telling you it is.
And they've adjusted. Amazing, resilient, little creatures. They smile, and hug me and say "more cheese, please!"(they really like cheese), and keep going. I believe that parents place their anxieties onto their children and then pretend it's the kids' hang up. Because kids? They just want to feel safe, loved, and to know that they have cheese. The kind they like. You know, cut just so in sticks the long way, maaaa.
When I think back to this past winter. . .I will never. ever. forget. . .Cole's potty training. It's supposed to be easy (mostly). A bazillion and two kids have done it before. A bazillion and two parents have made it through. I'm still somewhere in the middle. Somewhere in the purgatory of potty training, if there's such a place.
I'll give you the Reader's Digest version of the story because you probably have somewhere to be. . . .
Cole ended up in the hospital for a week in early December because he wouldn't poop. I mean, not because he wouldn't poop just that week. . .this was chronic. He wouldn't poop for weeks. And when he did, he wouldn't poop all he had to poop.
People. Poop doesn't just disappear. When you don't poop when you have to poop, it eventually backs up into your body and creates major problems.
Truly? One day Cole looked normal. The next? He looked about seven months pregnant. We put him on laxatives. We gave him mineral oil (which, by the way, is horribly dangerous for little people who might choke and inhale it. . .score one for my terrible health insurance and the second rate docs we have had to go see!) We gave him *shudder* enemas. Plural enemas.
Nothing worked. We ended up giving him a colonoscopy prep in the hospital to clean him out. It look 4 days. That's how determined my little guy was to not poop. He was literally sedated, unconscious, and still trying not to poop. Now, if I could only apply that kind of willpower to not eating every Cadbury Creme Egg I've seen at 50% off this week. . .
So we had a big problem. A problem that maybe started out as a potty training aversion but has since developed into something so much more serious. . .it borders on the psychological. And come on! I can't be changing his diaper before he heads out on his first date, so we had to get this thing under control!
The doctors finally put Cole on a heavy regimen of laxatives and referred him to the Potty Clinic. The Potty Clinic. In the Children's Behavioral Ward. THE CHILDREN'S BEHAVIORAL WARD. Can you hear me screaming!?!?
I meant to tell you after coming home from that first appointment on a cold January afternoon that I felt like a shell of mother after meeting Dr. Potty Clinic. Because come on. If your kid has a psychological issue with pooping. . .it's your fault, right? Let's just cut to the chase. This is MY potty clinic. And that's just what it felt like.
I had to chart his daily poop for months, like this:
"small amount, 5:00 p.m., full diaper, sort of runny."
"large amount, on potty, 3:00 p.m. for a Cabury Egg (he is his mother's son. . .)"
"medium amount, 12:00 noon before nap, because he heard his mother sobbing that she was such an inadequate potty trainer. . ."
Potty clinic . . .pshhhah. Embarrassing. Lame. It's certainly not going to work. . . But we did it. Week after week. And we kept going to see Dr. Potty Clinic week after week. Cole would play on his floor in his office with his awesome toys, and I would sit. . .in the chair the farthest away from him. . .and sweat.
Please don't say I'm a bad mom. . .Please don't say I'm a bad mom. . .Please say Cole will poop in the toilet before he goes to college. . .
Dr. Potty Clinic never said anything like that. He gave me crazy instructions of the land of madness to try when we got home. But, exactly three weeks later, when I was sitting in the chair farthest away. . .I would report that his suggestions worked like magic. And he'd give me another. "
Now, I want you to try something else that sounds completely insane and will also cost you about $100 bucks over the course of three weeks. Go ahead, go home and complain about me to your husband tonight over dinner, but do it anyway. Trust me."
He was right. Damn it, Dr. Potty Clinic. Eventually, I started calling my friends on the way home from our appointments, relaying to them the crazy and insane next step that he had given me. We were all followers of Dr. Potty Clinic. Mesmerized in his power to make these little creatures poop at will. With no crying. No tantrums. No seventh-month pregnancy tummies.
In fact, last week was our last appointment. I didn't know it at the time and I'm glad I didn't. My mascara would have been running for sure.
I sat in the chair farthest away and Cole went for his favorite toy and played. I showed him our potty chart. He shook his head and said. . .as if he were talking about the weather, "I think we're done here."
Done here?
Done here? Like that we'll go out the waiting room and schedule a new appointment for three weeks from now when you will do something else amazing like poop while you're walking on water?
"Cole's fine. I don't need to see him anymore. You just keep up with what we've been working on."
Huh? Are you breaking up with me? (I might have actually said that out loud. Nope. I did say that out loud.)
Dr. Potty Clinic looked at me and said I'd do fine. I'd been doing fine. Cole wouldn't be done seeing him if I hadn't done such a good job.
Ahhhhh. . .but I need you. I need to see a specialist on a regular basis so I don't go screwing this up again. Or worse? Screwing up another kid all together. "You know I have two, right?"
Dr. PC put his arm around me and walked me out to reception. I was quiet. Head was low. I guess he knew to get me out of the office before I started begging. He said to the receptionist, "She just needs a summary today, no follow up to schedule." Like we were no big thing. Like we didn't just have this journey together of poop.
He was giving Cole his last you've-been-so-good-today-that-you-get-a-sticker sticker and I must have looked very sad. Lost. Dumped. Because he said, "you can always call me if you feel lost."
Phew. So you're saying there's a chance. . .
So you know? It's like this. I do feel lost. I feel nervous and anxious and angry because I don't know what's going to happen with Cole and his potty training. He's already older than most of the kids at school that isn't completely trained. And we've still got a long road ahead.
It's tougher for me because we never really figured out Cole's trigger. . .so I have to be so incredibly careful when it comes to the potty. No pressure. No stress. No crying. Just free-poop in a very caring and supportive atmosphere. A pooposphere, if you will.
I thought about all of this on our ride home from Dr. PC that afternoon. Everything I do in my role as a parent is an unknown. And just because it's worked out for a bazillion and two other parents and kids before, doesn't ever mean it'll work out for us. And just think of all of the other milestones we've passed uneventfully that might have been a struggle for someone else.
I'm definitely keeping the potty chart to give adult-Cole one day. Until then, it'll remind me to take it easy, and to remember "No pressure. No stress. Embrace the Pooposphere" And that anyone will pretty much do whatever you want them to do for enough Cadbury Eggs.
And....because I know you want them. . .Here are some pics from Easter. . .
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| Till can really clean up. And check out the pigtails! |
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| Cole can clean up too! But he does it with an Easter 'stash. |
