The Standoff

Hello out there!  I realize that I have been MIA for a while.  We took a week's vacation which involved extensive driving and I was so tired.  We have been home for a couple of weeks now, but I have decided that recouperating from my vacation is a viable excuse for any and all incomplete tasks going forward in my life.

I know...my life is hard.  Feel free to email any and all sympathy notes to save on postage.

Anyway, during a 19 hour trip one way and a 16 hour trip the other, I am pleased to announce that The Nugget did not have a single potty accident!  Woo hoo, people, we did it!  We have potty trained a human being in just a few short weeks.

Mostly.

We have developed this one little quirk, though.  It's what I like to refer to as "the standoff".  It might better be called "the sitoff", but who ever heard of that?

Sooooo...the two of you who read this blog know that we were having a few pooping issues with The Nugget during my last post.  Things in this area have really progressed.  She hasn't had any poop accidents that were not the fault of her incompetent parents in weeks.  I think once we relaxed about the issues she immediately sensed the release of tension and she relaxed, too.  She has, however, developed this really annoying habit of needing to visit the bathroom a MINIMUM of 3 times in a row prior to having a bowel movement.  Which lead to the following lovely evening:

The Mister, The Nugget and I had just settled in for a lovely fall meal at the Cracker Barrel.  I was enjoying my diet coke when the first plea came:  "Mommy, I have to go potty."

Okay.  I can handle this.  We haven't started eating yet, so let me get it out of the way now (because another habit The Nugget has developed is never allowing me to finish a meal.  Ever.).  I took her hand and we headed toward the bathroom.  As soon as we hit that gift shop area, though, she forgot all about the bathroom.  I took her anyway, but she sat down and jumped up as quickly as she could so she could get back to ogling all of those shiny, breakable things in the lobby.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that our meals had arrived during our trip.  As I tucked into a breakfast for dinner, the second plea came: "Mommy, wipe me!"  She has somehow decided that this term, wipe me, is the signal for going poop.  I sighed, barely digested food churning in my belly.  "Can you wait?"  I was pleased she replied in the affirmative.  At which point she waited about 30 seconds before pleading, "Mommy, I need to go poop!"

Off we headed to the bathroom.  At this point I am fairly confident that she really has to go and is not just seeking a chance to see the gift shop again as she is doing the dance.  Also, The Mister had been texting me all day from the place where he and The Nugget were getting our car repaired: "We've been to the bathroom 4 times at 20 minutes each and NOTHING!"  and "they are calling our name over the speaker and where are we?  In the bathroom accomplishing nothing!"

*Sigh*

Once on the potty, I started to tell her a story.  This is my technique for helping her to relax; otherwise, she jumps on and off the potty about 37 times during each visit.  Not two lines into my story and we had acheived success!  Hands were washed, celbratory high fives were exchanged and we were back to dinner.

Except.

"Mommy, I need to go poopy!"

Seriously?  We just went.  She usually only goes once every 1-2 days.  Why?  WHY CAN'T I JUST FINISH MY FREAKING MEAL?

"Can you please just wait a minute?"  In my head I am trying to figure out if this is that new toddler behavior wherein the newly potty trained child just wants a break from a boring activitiy and knows potty visits are a sure-fire way to get one or if she really needs to go.

"Noooooooo...."

"You need to wait a minute.  Let mommy finish her supper and we will go to the potty after that."

Needless to say, this was my big mistake.  I have always parented based on the premise that my kid knows what she needs.  I have from birth thought that she would know things like when she was hungry, when she was tired and, yes, when she needed to go to the bathroom.  That approach has never led me wrong.  When I followed it.

Soon she was dancing and grabbing her bum and I heaved a sigh and took a last sip of my beloved cold beverage before, once again, heading off to the potty.  It wasn't long before I realized we were about to be in a desperate situation.  I picked her up and raced across the resturant.  We got in the stall and I quickly pulled down her pants to sit her on the potty.  At which point I got a hand full of soft, warm poo.

The Nugget immediately reached down to see what was going on.  Now there was poo on my hand, poo on her hands and poo on her legs.  Picking her up with my wrists, I put her up on the potty (so now there was poop on there, too).  And I stood and looked at her.

Remain calm.  Remain calm.  Remain calm.

Wishing I had brought my cell phone so I could at least call The Mister and hiss out, "figure out how to help me!", I finally decided I had no choice but to open the door and get some paper towels.

"Do. Not. Move." I threated said to The Nugget.

I rushed to the sink, turning on the water (with my wrists, people) and scrubbing my hands.  Thank goodness the bathroom was not busy!  I snatched up some paper towels, wet some and rushed back into the stall.  I began wiping the poo from hands and legs.  I took off shoes and pants and really yucky underpants.  Looking around, I decided attempts to salvage the undies were unwaranted and stuffed them into the feminine waste basket (you're welcome, C.B. employee!).  I wiped what I could from her pants and, not knowing what else to do, pulled them back on (the poo was contained to the interior of the pants, people!).  At which point we rushed to the sink and washed our hands until our skin peeled back to the bone.

I took her bony, clean hand in mine and walked back to the table where The Mister sat digesting his meal.  I noticed that he had let them take my only partially eaten meal away.  Not that I had any intention of eating the rest, but, seriously?

"Dinner's over.  We need to leave.  Now."  I left no room for discussion.  We marched straight to the lobby to pay and then drove home at warp speed where I ran up the stairs and stuck my kid into a hot, soapy bath.  I acknowledged to The Mister that this accident was really our fault for not listening to her when she told us what she needed.  I patted myself on the back for entering uncharted parenting territory and remaining (largely) calm and coming out (relatively) unscathed.

And, as with every standoff we have, I was relieved that it was over. 

For today.