I have been trying to figure out why after 8 months of potty training, Asher is now peeing in his pants. A lot. It is common for me to wash 7 or 8 pairs of pants and underwear each day.
I have read 100 articles online on "Potty Training" and "Potty Training Regression." I have had discussions with his preschool teachers, childcare experts and with friends who have older children.
Recently I emailed Asher's teachers so that we could establish a plan that is consistent at school and at home. At the end of the email I wrote, "On a positive note, he NEVER poops in his pants and is very aware when he has to poop. So that is good for now."
As I was typing those words I was thinking "Don't type those words. Don't even think those words. Also, why are you typing 'NEVER' in capital letters???? Stop this. Now." What is it called? Murphy's law? If it can go wrong it will.
Or is it the law of attraction? A person's thoughts (conscious and unconscious), emotions, and beliefs cause a change in the physical world that attracts positive or negative experiences that correspond to the aforementioned thoughts, with or without the person taking action to attain such experiences.
The very next day I arrived at school to pick up Asher. He was standing in a corner while everyone else was sitting in a circle doing story time. "I need to go to the bathroom!" he said when he saw me. "Great asking!" I said, as I often do when he asks to go to the potty. "No, I already went poop!" he said. Oh. I whisked him to the bathroom.
"No don't take off my pants, what if the poop falls on the floor?" Asher screamed.
"Well, do you still have poop that needs to come out?" I asked, sounding so quintessential mom I didn't even recognize my own voice. There was Screaming and kicking and wrestling as I took off Asher's pants and placed him on the toilet.
Asher finished pooping in the preschool toilet.
"Why is it splashing?" Asher whined.
At home we use a free-standing potty and the poop lands (and sticks) nicely to the bottom of the potty with no splashing. Asher is not concerned with how it gets cleaned.
I have forgotten just how messy pants full of poop can be. There was poop in his underwear, all over his bottom, smeared down his legs, and on the toilet where he sat. Hmmm. I stood there helpless. The kids were still outside the door, and Asher did not want to go out. But there was quite a mess to clean up. I dashed out to grab some wipes, but what we really needed was soap and water. I wondered if I should wash him in the sink? But that is where children wash their hands. There was a shower in the bathroom so I turned it on, and adjusted the temperature. After a minute, I felt the water. It seemed warm, but not too warm. I held Asher in the stream of water butt first. Screams of torture followed. "Too hot!" That boy can scream loud. I took him out and began trying to get the rest off with wipes. "Too cold." I was growing weary.
The preschool teacher knocked on the door to tell us that all the children had left. "You thought the shower was hot, and now you think the wipes are cold" Asher's teacher said in a soothing non-judgemental preschool teacher way. Asher never stopped screaming. Red faced and mouth open he screamed as I got him dressed, he screamed as I carried him up the stairs. His screams were deafening and his body was heavy as his protests made gravity somehow pull harder.
After a few minutes in the car, a pink cheeked, now calm Asher sat in the back seat almost looking.............happy. Can I have my paper and a pen? Asher asked in a reasonable way. What happened to the monster from just minutes before?
The next time I stopped at a light I gave him his pen and pad of paper. Then, without prompting, he began to write letters. We had arrived home and I went to the back seat of the car to see what he had written. I am pretty emotional these days. And when I saw his paper, tears came to my eyes. "Look! I said with more excitement than Asher expected, "You wrote mom, you wrote mom!"
Asher looked at me suspiciously. "Yes. I did." He said matter-of-factly.
The only letter I have ever seen Asher write is 'A'. A for Asher.
"I am so happy! I am so proud" I gushed.
"Well............" Asher said, sounding more like a teenager than a 3 year old, "I am happy too." When we got home he practiced his "M's" and "O's" over and over.
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