Destroy wouldn’t poop in the potty. We were pretty sure it wasn’t a gastrointestinal issue. So by the time we’d reached the dosage of two full adult servings of Miralax per day, it was time to take a stand.
There is no doubt my son is stubborn beyond his years. But so is his mother – who also boasts 30 years additional practice in the art.
The decision was made to keep the boy home from school. He would stay home and experience the full effects of Miralax. There would be no TV, no park dates, no fun – not until poop plopped into the potty.
Being 4, he fought against physics. He would not poop. Would. Not. Poop. It was then that Jon and I learned Destroy’s issues were purely a control issue. He would hold it, hold it, then hold it some more. Ultimately it would no longer be a decision (two adult doses of stool-softening powder will do that to a 38-pounder) and the Pompeii of poops would rock the afternoon.
CODE BROWN! CODE BROWN!
The weekend arrived. I told Search to get ready to go. One of his preschool girlfriends was having a birthday party. I don’t think Destroy actually thought we’d leave him behind.
Search and I had a blast.
There was a pony.
We decided to continue our one-on-one date – Search needed new shoes, so we headed to the mall where the ever-growing little man picked out light up Spiderman shoes. We then decided to stop by the Disney Store.
(Yes, I’m a horrible mother who was trying to play brothers against one another.)
Search got a new toy train. “Mommy, I think Destroy needs a helicopter.” (Cue being shamed by my 4-year-old. He is a better person than I.)
He is also smarter than me. Within in minutes of walking in the door, his brother high on the rush of birthday cake and pony boasts, Destroy announced, “I don’t poop in my pants now. I poop in the potty and I need my helicopter.”
Two days later we were still accident free! Prizes and celebrations abounded.
Four days later we were still accident free.
GrammaJ: Did he poop today?
GrammaJ: He pooped his pants?
GrammaJ: So he’s still using the potty?
On the fifth day we experienced a full-blown proper muppet meltdown. He’d been ornery all day at school, even starting a few fights. I wasn’t surprised. His tummy probably hurt. I strongly encouraged him to spend some time on the potty.
This was not a well-received statement.
As he flailed about, crocodile tears flowing, fists clenched, feet stomping, he finally shouted a semi-coherent statement.
“I NEED A COOKIE!!!”
(This kid was so full of shit.)
Alas, due to his behavior, there was no consumption of cookies that evening.
Morning didn’t go any better. However, during the fight to clothe the kid, he discovered swim goggles purchased for our upcoming beach trip. These were much more exciting than the prospect of pants.
“Poop first,” I demanded through clenched teeth.
Destroy decided he wanted those goggles. Bowels were cleared. We were creating a monster. He needs a bribe to poop every time?
It was a reversal of monkey’s flinging poo. Instead he apparently planned to hold it until Mom broke down and made with the bribe. But then again, we were saving a lot of money on the underwear that we no longer threw away daily…
Apparently he didn’t get it all out with that morning bribe though. When I picked him up, he’d started poop #2 in his pants and was trying to convince his teacher he still deserved a prize from the poop chest. (This is a thing.)
He didn’t get a prize. He wouldn’t be allowed to watch his coveted Disney Jr. Octonauts. And he didn’t take his nap; he’d participated in a preschool dance party instead. Because his tummy hurt, he refused to eat his snack.
All effects combined, my constipated hypoglycemic kid was about to stage the prequel to the hunger games. MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN MY FAVOR.
Just before bath time, I heard a blood curdling banshee wail. “I got all wet!” (This was problematic since we hadn’t yet started bath.)
He’d raced to the bathroom to pee. Then decided he needed to poop. He spun around to sit his little tushy down.
He fell into the potty.
But he pooped!
I think I won.