I dreaded the prospect of toilet-training from the moment I discovered I was pregnant with Mallory. It just seemed to be a parenting challenge – necessitating routine-setting and negotiating and attention-paying -- that I wouldn’t be up to. Either I was right about myself, or Mallory absorbed my dread from the womb, because all my fears were realized in the struggle to get her out of diapers.
There was, in fact, a week when she was almost 2 ½ that I thought we’d conquered the whole thing effortlessly. She suddenly was going to the potty on cue, all by herself! I was thrilled! And smug. And promptly punished for my smugness, because for some reason I no longer remember, it was all over and we were back to square one. Then for the next year we bumbled along without much progress, in part because she was at daycare three days a week and at my in-laws two days a week and home the rest of the time and all of us caregivers never seemed to get our potty-training-Mallory-strategies aligned. And then I got pregnant and felt so miserable for about nine weeks that I didn’t care what she did so long as I didn’t have to clean anything up. And then suddenly she was 3 ½ and I started to panic because a) I was about to have another baby and b) she was starting preschool in August and HAD to be absolutely trained by that point.
Luckily, once Phoebe was born, something clicked in Mallory’s head and she left diapers behind. Well, except for nighttime, which, well, we’re still not ready to talk about that yet. And except for the fact that it always was, and still always is, a struggle to just get her to go pee, for heaven’s sake. For one thing, she has the bladder of a camel, apparently, and really only seems to pee about twice a day. But the main problem is that she has instituted a series of Condition That Must Be Met before she will even enter the bathroom, and these are enough to drive any loving parent up the freaking wall.
First, she developed what can only be explained as a pathological need for privacy. I’d ask her to go to the bathroom, and she’d say, “Are you going to hear me?” I’d say No, and then she’d ask everyone else in the vicinity (even wee little Phoebe) if they were going to hear her. Only after everyone had said No, would she actually go. Then, for extra fun, she started tacking on the disclaimer, “I’m just Mallory going potty,” except that she was still pronouncing her name “Wowee” at this point. This disclaimer was added at the height of her pretend-play phase, when she was always pretending to be Cinderella, or Sandy from Grease, or Snow White, or whoever – I guess she didn’t want anyone associating her fantasy selves with something as mundane as the potty. So -- “Are you going to hear me go potty?” she’d ask me. “No,” I’d say. “I’m just Wowee going potty!” she’d add, before moving on to someone else. It was even more fun when we were at my in-laws and she’d go through this routine with Chris’s grandmother, who is old and slightly deaf and also the slightest bit confused in general anyway. “Are you going to hear me?” she’d ask Gigi, and Gigi would say, “What? Hear you do what? What are you doing?” while the other grown-ups in the room, hip to the jive, would be frantically mouthing “Just say NO!” in her direction until she caught on, because otherwise we’d all be there all day and Mallory would be no closer to conceding to void her bladder.
Eventually she moved past of her fear of being overheard and moved on to a fear of bugs. “I’m going to go potty, will you come check for bugs?” she’d say. So I’d have to go inspect every inch of the bathroom for possible insects and spiders. There never was a bug, by the way, not even once.
Next up was a variation of the privacy requirement, updated with her favorite phrase. “I’m going potty,” she’d say. “Always remember don’t come in.” Or, “Always remember don’t unlock the door.” Or, “Always remember I want Mommy to help me wipe.” Or, charmingly, “Always remember don’t smell me.”
And by the way, if you can believe this of a four-year-old, she doesn’t at all respect other people’s need for privacy. Once she made me make a sign that said “PRIVATE!” and tape it to the bathroom door before she went in. A few days later I was in there and she came knocking at the door. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I said. “But I want to come in!” she said. “No, you need to wait,” I said. I heard the sound of ripping tape. “But I took down the private sign, so that means I can come in!” she said.
This weekend saw the return of the “checking for bugs” requirement. Sigh.
Diapers were easier.
ART for the Day
Phoebe has developed a habit that, while cute, is hauntingly reminiscent of Mallory’s pre-bathroom antics. When asked if she wants to take a bath, she flaps her arms in excitement and squeals and giggles and shouts “Ba! Ba!” to everyone in the room. “Ba!” she’ll yell at Chris. “Yes, a bath!” he’ll say. “Ba!” she’ll holler at Mallory. “Yes, a bath,” Mallory will say. “Ba!” she’ll say to me. “Yes, a bath!” I’ll reply. Then, suitably reassured then she will in fact be taking a bath, she’ll stop yelling “Ba!” at the top of her voice. Also, she’s started to say “Burp!” after she, well, burps, and she’ll keep saying it until someone acknowledges her and says, “Excuse you!” Which is also reminiscent of a part of my favorite scene from It’s a Wonderful Life, but that’s worth another post.
There was, in fact, a week when she was almost 2 ½ that I thought we’d conquered the whole thing effortlessly. She suddenly was going to the potty on cue, all by herself! I was thrilled! And smug. And promptly punished for my smugness, because for some reason I no longer remember, it was all over and we were back to square one. Then for the next year we bumbled along without much progress, in part because she was at daycare three days a week and at my in-laws two days a week and home the rest of the time and all of us caregivers never seemed to get our potty-training-Mallory-strategies aligned. And then I got pregnant and felt so miserable for about nine weeks that I didn’t care what she did so long as I didn’t have to clean anything up. And then suddenly she was 3 ½ and I started to panic because a) I was about to have another baby and b) she was starting preschool in August and HAD to be absolutely trained by that point.
Luckily, once Phoebe was born, something clicked in Mallory’s head and she left diapers behind. Well, except for nighttime, which, well, we’re still not ready to talk about that yet. And except for the fact that it always was, and still always is, a struggle to just get her to go pee, for heaven’s sake. For one thing, she has the bladder of a camel, apparently, and really only seems to pee about twice a day. But the main problem is that she has instituted a series of Condition That Must Be Met before she will even enter the bathroom, and these are enough to drive any loving parent up the freaking wall.
First, she developed what can only be explained as a pathological need for privacy. I’d ask her to go to the bathroom, and she’d say, “Are you going to hear me?” I’d say No, and then she’d ask everyone else in the vicinity (even wee little Phoebe) if they were going to hear her. Only after everyone had said No, would she actually go. Then, for extra fun, she started tacking on the disclaimer, “I’m just Mallory going potty,” except that she was still pronouncing her name “Wowee” at this point. This disclaimer was added at the height of her pretend-play phase, when she was always pretending to be Cinderella, or Sandy from Grease, or Snow White, or whoever – I guess she didn’t want anyone associating her fantasy selves with something as mundane as the potty. So -- “Are you going to hear me go potty?” she’d ask me. “No,” I’d say. “I’m just Wowee going potty!” she’d add, before moving on to someone else. It was even more fun when we were at my in-laws and she’d go through this routine with Chris’s grandmother, who is old and slightly deaf and also the slightest bit confused in general anyway. “Are you going to hear me?” she’d ask Gigi, and Gigi would say, “What? Hear you do what? What are you doing?” while the other grown-ups in the room, hip to the jive, would be frantically mouthing “Just say NO!” in her direction until she caught on, because otherwise we’d all be there all day and Mallory would be no closer to conceding to void her bladder.
Eventually she moved past of her fear of being overheard and moved on to a fear of bugs. “I’m going to go potty, will you come check for bugs?” she’d say. So I’d have to go inspect every inch of the bathroom for possible insects and spiders. There never was a bug, by the way, not even once.
Next up was a variation of the privacy requirement, updated with her favorite phrase. “I’m going potty,” she’d say. “Always remember don’t come in.” Or, “Always remember don’t unlock the door.” Or, “Always remember I want Mommy to help me wipe.” Or, charmingly, “Always remember don’t smell me.”
And by the way, if you can believe this of a four-year-old, she doesn’t at all respect other people’s need for privacy. Once she made me make a sign that said “PRIVATE!” and tape it to the bathroom door before she went in. A few days later I was in there and she came knocking at the door. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I said. “But I want to come in!” she said. “No, you need to wait,” I said. I heard the sound of ripping tape. “But I took down the private sign, so that means I can come in!” she said.
This weekend saw the return of the “checking for bugs” requirement. Sigh.
Diapers were easier.
ART for the Day
Phoebe has developed a habit that, while cute, is hauntingly reminiscent of Mallory’s pre-bathroom antics. When asked if she wants to take a bath, she flaps her arms in excitement and squeals and giggles and shouts “Ba! Ba!” to everyone in the room. “Ba!” she’ll yell at Chris. “Yes, a bath!” he’ll say. “Ba!” she’ll holler at Mallory. “Yes, a bath,” Mallory will say. “Ba!” she’ll say to me. “Yes, a bath!” I’ll reply. Then, suitably reassured then she will in fact be taking a bath, she’ll stop yelling “Ba!” at the top of her voice. Also, she’s started to say “Burp!” after she, well, burps, and she’ll keep saying it until someone acknowledges her and says, “Excuse you!” Which is also reminiscent of a part of my favorite scene from It’s a Wonderful Life, but that’s worth another post.
Comments
I'll be sure to make a "private" sign for the bathroom before y'all get here! :)
aimee
H