A Texas-sized kick in the pants
Daddy has been so miffed that I have neglected to take pictures of my children wearing the boots he bought for them in Texas. These boots he brought home, they are so authentic you get the feeling a real Texas cowboy done killt you that critter and tanned its hide up fer ya real nice before fashioning it into stellar footwear made to outlast your average human. Each pair is just a hair too big for its owner, but that doesn't stop us at all from running all around town and doing errands in them. Here is Jacob modeling his, which are part ostrich leather.
I didn't take a picture of Isaac in his, because today was the Jacob show. Rather, I should say that the show was stolen by Jacob's poop. It is pretty easy to sum up many of our recent days, including today, like so: from the time Jake finished his morning cup of milk, which I spiced with his usual dose of stool softener, every fifteen to twenty minutes ALL DAY LONG he screams and grabs his butt. Every time I ask him if he has to poop. Instead of answering, he stops screaming and completely changes the subject as if nothing ever happened (or had already happened at least fifty times today).
After lunch his obvious pain got the best of me and I basically demanded that he sit on the pot until poop arrived. At first I was totally cool and offered my usual candy-for-poop agreement, which worked like a charm over the weekend. Today that was a no go. Next I offered to read a story in exchange for a grunt. Lots of screaming refusals over that one. I'm sure I did something else from the Cool Mommy Playbook that similarly failed. After all that, I was so insane with the, well, insanity of it -- my ridiculous kid sitting here, hurting himself more every minute he won't poop -- I actually held my hands on his thighs to keep his butt on the pot.
After an hour of constant screaming (towards the end, it was from both parties) and still no poop, Jakey confessed to me that he was scared of it, scared that it would hurt. Sigh. I helped him down and insisted that he take a nap. He had worn himself out crying and it was that time anyway. He went down without a peep and slept for three hours.
And where was his brother in all this? I really don't know. I yelled out from time to time to ask how Isaac was, and always there was the familiar refrain, "Doin' good!" For a whole hour, I couldn't tell you for the life of me what my 4-year-old was doing, and that bugs the living crap out of me. If only it could manage to bug the literal crap out of his little brother.
Finally at 5 this evening, Jacob couldn't hold his poop back any longer and started screaming as he pooped in his pants. For the first time, he didn't fight me when I set him on the pot, though there was no end to the unholy shrieking and the tears. And you wouldn't believe the Texas-sized poop that came out of him.
It would be understanding of me to say, "No wonder he was in such pain." But I can't. I know I'm being so immature about this, but I'm just so angry because he does it all to himself. He was so cool about pooping on the potty for a few weeks; now it's like we are back to square one, except that he has decreed there will be no more diapers. He and Daddy (AKA The Poop Whisperer) have a special relationship in this area because Daddy has the time and patience to work through the poops with him. I have neither. I know I need to calm down about this, but come ON! Who has an hour of their day to sit patiently coaxing their child to drop the dook that never comes? Who can survive a day filled with constant intervals of pain-filled shrieks? Tell me, WHO? Could you?
I didn't take a picture of Isaac in his, because today was the Jacob show. Rather, I should say that the show was stolen by Jacob's poop. It is pretty easy to sum up many of our recent days, including today, like so: from the time Jake finished his morning cup of milk, which I spiced with his usual dose of stool softener, every fifteen to twenty minutes ALL DAY LONG he screams and grabs his butt. Every time I ask him if he has to poop. Instead of answering, he stops screaming and completely changes the subject as if nothing ever happened (or had already happened at least fifty times today).
After lunch his obvious pain got the best of me and I basically demanded that he sit on the pot until poop arrived. At first I was totally cool and offered my usual candy-for-poop agreement, which worked like a charm over the weekend. Today that was a no go. Next I offered to read a story in exchange for a grunt. Lots of screaming refusals over that one. I'm sure I did something else from the Cool Mommy Playbook that similarly failed. After all that, I was so insane with the, well, insanity of it -- my ridiculous kid sitting here, hurting himself more every minute he won't poop -- I actually held my hands on his thighs to keep his butt on the pot.
After an hour of constant screaming (towards the end, it was from both parties) and still no poop, Jakey confessed to me that he was scared of it, scared that it would hurt. Sigh. I helped him down and insisted that he take a nap. He had worn himself out crying and it was that time anyway. He went down without a peep and slept for three hours.
And where was his brother in all this? I really don't know. I yelled out from time to time to ask how Isaac was, and always there was the familiar refrain, "Doin' good!" For a whole hour, I couldn't tell you for the life of me what my 4-year-old was doing, and that bugs the living crap out of me. If only it could manage to bug the literal crap out of his little brother.
Finally at 5 this evening, Jacob couldn't hold his poop back any longer and started screaming as he pooped in his pants. For the first time, he didn't fight me when I set him on the pot, though there was no end to the unholy shrieking and the tears. And you wouldn't believe the Texas-sized poop that came out of him.
It would be understanding of me to say, "No wonder he was in such pain." But I can't. I know I'm being so immature about this, but I'm just so angry because he does it all to himself. He was so cool about pooping on the potty for a few weeks; now it's like we are back to square one, except that he has decreed there will be no more diapers. He and Daddy (AKA The Poop Whisperer) have a special relationship in this area because Daddy has the time and patience to work through the poops with him. I have neither. I know I need to calm down about this, but come ON! Who has an hour of their day to sit patiently coaxing their child to drop the dook that never comes? Who can survive a day filled with constant intervals of pain-filled shrieks? Tell me, WHO? Could you?
posted by Claire at 10:47 PM
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