Potty Training Monster

Espen has understood the concept of using a toilet for some time. While he is occasionally fascinated by the novelty of peeing into a receptacle, the overall habit has not sufficiently secured his devotion.

We’ve tried various things to inspire a lifelong relationship between Espen and the pissoir- making it a game to race to the potty, getting him ‘big boy pants’ to parade around the house in, switching to pull ups that are so fun to put on and take off…but to no avail.

According to rampant toilet training literature scattered around the web, boys tend to potty train later than girls, but no one really speaks to WHY. I’d think that having a point and shoot accessory of evacuation would rather inspire you to be able to whip it out and shower the toilet bowl with pee.

But no.

Espen likes to inform us when he is peeing. “Mommy, I go pee.” Or pooping. “Mommy! I’m pooping!” But when asked if he would like to use the toilet, he shakes his head as though dismissing an ill-placed suggestion at a restaurant. “No, thank you, mommy.”

He enunciates his toilet-rejection by issuing wild demands in the same breath.  “Go ‘way. Be quiet. No talking!”

So we tip-toe around like we are in the Church of Holy Shit until he finishes.

Then we begin the battle to change him.

“Espen, let’s go to the bathroom and get out of that poo-poo.”

-shrieks-

“Nooooooo!!!! One minute!”

“Espen, we need to change you now. It’s not good for your skin to bathe in poop.”

“Nooooooooooo!!! One minute!”

“Espen, you know that if you went poo in the toilet, you wouldn’t have to be changed. Ever.”

Of course, we win because we are larger, but that won’t last forever.

I comfort myself with the fact that I have never seen a 16 year old in diapers unless there are other complications.

Still, short of pee-targets that I paste in the toilet bowl, I’ve resigned myself to letting Espen pee in diapers until he tires of it. Hopefully public peer shaming will not be the ultimate motivator, but who knows.

So last night, I go to tuck him into bed and realize his comforter smells like day old pee.

I remove it and throw it on the ground.

“Mommy. Why did you throw my blankie on the ground?” Yes, he’s that articulate at times.

“It smells like pee, baby. I need to wash it.”

“WHY pee, mommy?”

“Well, probably because you peed on it, I imagine.”

“I don’t pee on it!”

“Well, I didn’t pee on it.”

Espen hops out of bed and runs to the comforter. He smells it. Laughs.

“Pee!”

Then he runs to the heat register in the ground and mimes peeing.

“Esp, honey, what are you doing?”

He jumps up and down, cackling.

“I pee here!”

I look at the heat register. And Espen. Is he bluffing? Can two year olds bluff? I breathe.

“Where did you pee exactly?”

He points happily at the register. “In here!”

“When did you do this?”

“Two nights!!!”

I picked up the comforter and walked out of the room. Outmaneuvered by a toddler.