Potty Training Bootcamp, Take 1

It lasted all of four hours this morning.

Knowing that Ivan will refuse to wear underwear, I asked Andy to make a big deal out of wearing underwear when he was getting dressed this morning.

Ivan finally relented. He allowed Andy to put a pair of underpants on. However, not the red Elmo pair that I was trying to put on him. He had to go and choose his own pair. Fine. He returned with a blue Grover pair. Maybe it's Elmo on the underwear that he doesn't want to wear, not the underwear itself, I thought.

We dressed him in a pair of pants and then Andy left for work.

I repeatedly told Ivan to let me know when he needed to go potty and pooppy so we can go on the potty. He didn't acknowledge any of my heedings. He was too busy playing.

Some two hours later, while he was engrossed in play, I noticed a big wet stain on the front of his pants. He didn't say anything, nor acknowledged it when I said his pants were wet and let's go to change.

Nothing.

I got concerned that maybe he doesn't feel the wetness or that maybe it doesn't bother him. Either one, of course, would be bad from the potty training perspective. I found it weird though because every time his pajamas get wet, because his diaper is too full or somehow wasn't positioned properly, he loudly complains to change him. "Change diaper."

We attempted to go upstairs to the bedroom several times to put on some new clothes, but somehow we'd always end up back downstairs playing. Eventually, half an hour later, we made it upstairs. He proceeded to play, completely ignoring me.

Meanwhile, Andy's mother called and I told her about my dilemma. Should I change him or should I wait for him to acknowledge that his pants are wet? She didn't know. But Ivan heard me talk to her about underwear, and quickly ran to his room to bring a pair. So he's been listening all along.

Still, he wouldn't let me change him. I let him play in his room, where he was busy neatly spreading out on the floor his various bedspreads, while I stayed in our bedroom. A few minutes later, he rushed in crying. A bean-infused aroma, or shall I say stench, enveloped his little frame, like some sensory aura. He had popped his pants.

He still refused to get changed, but engrossed himself in play in the bedroom.

OK, this is some sort of potty training resistance, I thought.

Eventually, off to the bathroom we went to get cleaned up.

Instead of popping a few nice firm nuggets that I could just toss in the toilet ("bye, bye poppy, we always tell the poop when he clean diapers and flush its contents into the toilet), the poop was of bean paste consistency that was stuck to his underwear and butt, and smeared all over his legs.

Great! Underwear isn't disposable diapers, so I was thrilled to have to clean that up.

We lingered in the bathroom. He sat on the potty a few times to pee, which he did. (Always requesting gobs of toilet paper to dry himself off, to the point that the toilet got stuck.)

Then he played in the bedroom butt-naked. When he had to pee, he rushed to the potty. So he knows when he needs to go, I confirmed.

But he absolutely refused to let me put underwear back on. I got out the entire Sesame Street collection to let him choose. He picked the orange one. I forget which character that was.

"Too tight, too tight," he protested when I pulled up the pants. They're the right size and fit fine. But the underpants feel different than diapers, and he doesn't like it. I would say more comfortable, but then I haven't spent my whole life in diapers, like he has. His safety blanket.

Then, he brought me diapers, pleading with me, "change diapers, change diapers, mamma." I acquiesced.

So by 11 a.m. with one peed and pooped underpants, he was back in his diapers.

Tomorrow's bootcamp sergeant will be Andy (he doesn't know it yet). I hope he fares better.