Hellobee

Behold: Our experience with 3-day potty training, in all its painful, TMI glory.

DAY 1

7 a.m. — Little Y is wide awake when I walk into his room. “Is the diaper fairy taking my diapers away today?” he asks. At the beginning of the year, I’d told him the pacifier fairy was going to take his pacifiers and distribute them to little kids who needed them. It worked out pretty well, so why not reuse a trick?

Little Y helps me box up unused diapers. I tell him I’ll be leaving them in the garage for the diaper fairy. Of course, I actually hide the diapers in the laundry room.

Little Y and the diapers he’ll be leaving for the diaper fairy

We make a big deal about picking out a pair of underwear. Underwear is for big boys! Underwear isn’t itchy! Underwear has cool stuff on it! To that end, he picks a pair of “Planes” undies with Dusty Crophopper on the butt. I explain that Dusty really doesn’t want to get peed or pooped on, and Little Y nods solemnly. “I’ll keep Dusty dry, mom. I promise.”

Breakfast passes without incident. We play cars and read. Every time he plops down with another book, I cringe a little. It’s like having a loaded gun on my lap.

9 a.m. — It’s time for me to put the baby down for his morning nap. This involves leaving Little Y alone in his room, just across the hall from the nursery, for a short period of time while I nurse. It’s our first real test, especially because Little Y typically waits until he’s by himself to poop.

The baby is mercifully quick this morning. Ten minutes later, I find Little Y lounging on his bed, playing with a helicopter toy. I don’t smell anything. I feel his undies. Bone dry. YES.

The morning drags on. More books. More cars. Typically, I may sneak in a shower while he gets a cartoon, but this morning I’m too afraid. When nature does call, it’s for me. Little Y hears the telltale tinkle in the potty, runs into the bathroom and shouts, “I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” Then he hugs me, tells me I need my privacy, and runs away.

11 a.m. — I’m getting antsy. I begin to push water on him. The baby wakes up, and I suggest a short walk — that is, if he’ll use the potty first. He politely declines when he hears the catch, and grows more adamant as I push. Be the honey badger, I remind myself.

Noon — I tell him he can watch Sprout if he uses the potty, but he doesn’t take the bait. Five minutes later, I turn it on anyway. I’m weak, and I need some semblance of peace as I fix lunch. Caillou is on! Joy.

During lunch, Little Y suddenly looks up from his plate. “Mama! I’m gonna pee-pee on Dusty!” I tell him to hold it in the best he can, and we run to the potty. At first, he resists. I remind him of the M&Ms and his eyes get big. He climbs up.

SUCCESS.

I do a ridiculous dance and dole out some M&Ms. We choose the first sticker for his new chart. I say the word “proud” approximately 5 billion times. The kid is stoked. Meanwhile, the baby celebrates by pulling 10 feet of toilet paper off the roll and eating it.

Character underwear hell, and my emergency kit — floor cleaners, stain removers, paper towels, and lots of extra undies

1:45 p.m. — I’m just putting the baby down for his afternoon nap when I hear a CRASH and crying from Little Y’s room. I pop the baby into his crib and rush across the hall, where Little Y has flipped an overstuffed bin of cars and trucks. He’s fine, but his underwear aren’t. Totally soaked. So is the carpet. I deploy some spot cleaner, read him a story, and put him back in a diaper for his nap. Suddenly our lunchtime celebration seems so long ago.

4:15 p.m. — Naptime is over. He wakes up with a dry diaper, which is fairly unusual. I remind him to tell me if he needs some potty time. He hops on the potty. Nada. I try to blunt his frustration with an overly enthusiastic reading of a Richard Scarry book.

5:15 p.m. — I give him a small snack as he bops around the living room. As I’m contemplating dinner, I hear a yelp, followed by “UH-OH!” And then the loooooud sound of copious pee crashing onto a wood floor. So much urine. I frantically wipe it up, but not before the baby gets to play in some of it. Little Y busts out a Swiffer. Good man.

6 p.m. — We’re tackling a floor puzzle together when he starts jiggling around. I hold my tongue, figuring it’s probably just a normal 3-year-old jig. Plus, he just went. Surely there’s nothing let in there?

WRONG. Another waterfall. Another frantic cleanup. At least the Swiffer is still out. I channel my frustration into the cleanup. “Wow, Mama!” Little Y says. “The floor is so shiny now!”

7:15 p.m. — I gently suggest a potty trip after dinner. Again, he refuses. Again, he changes his tune when I remind him of the M&Ms.

SUCCESS. He gets more candy and another sticker. The baby eats more toilet paper.

7:20 p.m. — I sneak onto the porch for 30 seconds just to feel the sun on my face. Little Y sneaks out behind me and begins 10 solid minutes of doorbell-ringing.

7:45 p.m. — He’s dancing again.

“Tell me if you need to use the potty,” I say.

“I don’t need to go potty.”

“Okay. Just tell me. I’m pretty sure there’s some more M&Ms in there.”

“Mom, I need the potty.”

SUCCESS.

I herd both boys upstairs for bath time. Little Y demands a diaper as soon as he’s out of the tub, and even tries to steal the baby’s. He’s clutching his tush — clearly he needs to poop. I cajole him onto the potty with a book. We sit and sit. Nothing. Papa Y comes home from a very conveniently timed golf trip and takes over with Little Y so I can put the baby to bed.

After both kids are asleep, I crash pretty much immediately and realize we were 50/50 for the day. I’ll take it.

DAY 2

8 a.m. — Little Y sleeps in a bit. His nighttime diaper is bone-dry. Wow! Good omens for the day, I hope. He refuses a potty trip but is excited to put on some Lightning McQueen underwear. I remind him that Lightning wants to stay dry. He nods. “Because he can’t go fast if he’s wet, mom.” Exactly, buddy.

We head downstairs and I get some oatmeal ready for breakfast. Little Y runs into the kitchen. “MAMA! I need to PEE!” We race to the potty.

SUCCESS. More stickers, more M&Ms. I lavish praise on him for telling me on his own that he needed to go. “That was ‘sponsible!” he shouts, bouncing up and down. “Like a big kid!”

10:30 a.m. — Once the baby is up from his morning nap, I wrestle sheets and a freshly laundered duvet cover onto my bed. Little Y wants to roll around on it and play cave, naturally. I eye him suspiciously, and tell him he can only play on my bed if he goes to the potty.

SUCCESS.

12:45 p.m. — After lunch, he trots off to his playroom by himself. After five minutes of radio silence, I wander by to check on him. In this house, more than five minutes of independent play means a) poop is happening or b) will happen soon.

“LEAVE ME ALONE, Mama,” he commands. Nope nope nope. I rush him to the potty. He sits, but not willingly. No poop, but he manages some pee.

(Semi) SUCCESS.

Just a few minutes later, the potty dance starts again. No poop, but more pee. This time it goes everywhere. The baby crawls in to smear it on the wall. Thanks for the assist, smalls.

4:30 p.m. — His naptime diaper is dry, and he tells me he needs to pee after he gets up. I’m starting to get cocky, and go tend to the baby. While I’m changing the baby’s diaper, I hear a grunt from across the hall. “What are you doing, buddy?” I call.

“I’m trying to go poop in my underwears!” he responds. Gotta love the honesty. I rush him to the potty again, and entice him to stay with a couple of books. He manages some pee again, but no poop.

6 p.m. — I head to the bathroom for approximately two minutes. Mom has to pee too, you know. After I come out, Little Y unceremoniously informs me that he’s pooped in his undies. During the two minutes when he knew I couldn’t get him. ARRRRRGH. Sneaky little honey badger.

We flush the contents where they belong, and I tell him how sad Lightning McQueen is that he was pooped on. Little Y nods. “Yeah, he was spinning his wheels in the poop, Mama.”

Papa Y suggests dinner at the Asian place just a few minutes away. At first I reject the idea immediately. It’s only Day 2, and we’re supposed to be sequestered! But then I think about fresh air. And sushi. I load up my diaper bag with some spare undies and shorts, and we head out.

I am a potty-training scofflaw.

Little Y stays dry throughout dinner. We get cocky and go for frozen yogurt. He’s still fine. Then we really push our luck and grab a few groceries. Still dry.

And what does my little honey badger do right away after we get home? He asks to use the potty. Be still my heart.

It’s time to put baby to bed, so I leave Little Y in Papa Y’s care. Well, the crab rangoon from dinner catches up with him, and he leaves Little Y to play for few minutes while nature calls. Little Y seizes the opportunity to poop his undies again.

Sigh.

Day 3

7:30 a.m. — We start the day with another dry diaper. Little Y requests potty time almost immediately. SUCCESS. I feel a little strange feeding him M&Ms before breakfast, but … whatevs. I am the honey badger.

9:30 a.m. — I put the baby down for his nap, and Little Y decides to make good on some iPad time that he’s earned by getting enough stickers on his sticker chart. He beaches out on my bed and plays his favorite alphabet game. I seize the chance to take a quick shower and sort some laundry. Life feels — dare I say it? — almost normal.

Soon, I notice a bit of a jiggle. “Do you need some potty time?”

“Yes.” He hops off the bed. “But I want to bring the iPad.”

I tell him nope. The iPad will stay on the bed, but he can play some more after potty time. I don’t want to set him up to expect electronics on the potty. (Especially because my husband would totally buy this for Little Y if I let him.)

Little Y decides his need for the iPad outweighs his need for the potty. With a gathering sense of foreboding, I watch as he climbs back onto my bed. My beautiful, fluffy bed with freshly laundered linens. Before I can say anything, he’s peeing — on the iPad, on the duvet. I pick him up and whisk him to the bathroom, trying to minimize the pee trail. He sobs as I tell him that there will be no more iPad time if he isn’t willing to leave it to use the potty.

Noon — I have a light-bulb moment as I usher Little Y downstairs for lunch. There was a “Daniel Tiger” episode about using the potty, even if it meant leaving a fun activity. I search Hulu and find it. Bingo. I tell Little Y that even Daniel Tiger has to go potty sometimes. He’s glued to the TV, and for the rest of the day, we use Daniel’s song to great effect:

If you have to go potty,

Stop and go right away

Flush and wash

And be on your way!

The rest of the day passes without incident. All pee makes it into the potty, and we somehow escape without any sneaky poop incidents.

THE FINAL TALLY

• Stickers on Little Y’s pee chart, 3-day total: 18
• Stickers on Little Y’s poop chart, 3-day total: 0
• Pee accidents, 3-day total: 4
• Poop accidents, 3-day total: 2
• M&Ms earned by Little Y: 90 (5 for each successful trip)
• M&Ms stress-eaten by me: Er, no comment
• Toilet paper eaten by baby: Unknown

All in all, a great success in my book. The potty is becoming the norm, just in the nick of time. Of course, challenges remain. Namely, will my kid ever poop in the potty? How will he do with public restrooms? And will he be able to stay dry at preschool?

Stay tuned…