Potty Strikes

I didn’t used to find this funny. But, like many things in parenting, if you don’t laugh, you’ll just end up crying.

I’m talking about baby poop. Pee. Diapers. Potties. Believe me, I have never been one for toilet humour. I used to think of myself as too educated and sophisticated for that. (Hah!)

But if you are a parent, I guarantee that you have laughed about poop at least once, no matter how sophisticated you are. If you have an infant, you likely talk about the p-words on a daily basis. I even know a couple who did a celebratory “poo dance” when their newborn finally did his business, because it meant their baby was healthy. I could not even fathom doing such a dance before I became a mom. If you aren’t a parent yet, you’ve probably never done a poo dance either (I hope). But you will.

With my nine-month-old son, we have been practising “Elimination Communication,” or EC, as some parents call it. EC is based on the idea that infants are born with the instinct not to soil themselves and that we train them to poop in their pants. If we keep this instinct alive by encouraging them to use the potty from birth, they will never feel comfortable in soiled diapers and will learn to use a potty faster – a plus for everyone.

Now, some of you are rolling your eyes and thinking that this is crazy. Not so. We have done this with our son since birth, and from about six months of age we have rarely changed a poopy diaper. This is not because my son is magical. He just has a very obvious “poo face.” There is no mistaking it. He looks at me for help, eyes wide, lips tight and wide in this weird grin. When that happens, I rush him to the potty and he promptly does his business. No dirty diaper, no mess, and everyone is happier. Simple as pie.

The problem is, every once in a while, the munchkin goes on a potty strike and simply refuses to sit on the toilet. He arches his back and protests. Loudly. (I often wonder how such a small being can be so loud.) So I take him off, assuming that he doesn’t need to go. But he does need to go, he just doesn’t want to go in the potty. He’ll crawl away only to leave a puddle on the floor two seconds later, grinning happily like he just played a great joke on mommy. My husband left him in the bathroom for two minutes the other day, sans diaper, and came back to a trail of poop across the bathroom. Even I thought that one was gross, but since I didn’t have to clean it up, I laughed hysterically.

Yesterday, the potty strike continued. I put him on his little toilet seat and he started to cry, so I quickly took him off (the last thing I need is a child traumatized by the potty). He was then standing happily by the bathtub, pants around his ankles, when I turned on the faucet. This apparently inspired his reluctant bladder, and he let loose all over his pants, socks, and the floor, giggling the entire time. Like he did it on purpose. Like he thought it was so very funny to pee on the floor. Despite myself, I giggled too, because it was funny. Because apparently, despite my education and obvious sophistication, I now find toilet humour funny.

My son will someday be a teenage boy. I figure I might as well embrace it now.