Had a wonderful experience with poop, potty training and our little YY the other week. Suffice to say, he is just 19 months old going on 20, and still likes to drop his load in his diapers after grunting a little bit. What makes me laugh watching him poop is the way his face contorts into some sort of weird grin and his skin turns red as he puts in the effort. And then, the grunting stops, and he’s happy as usual, and I, with a habitual sigh, take him upstairs to the change table and relieve him of his soiled nappy.
This time, though, I had just picked him up after one of his legendary two-to-three-hour naps that he has daily in the bed. He had a touch of diaper rash, and with a touch of brilliance I decided that it would be a good idea to let him run around sans culotte for a little while and let things air out down there.
So far, so good.
And then… I saw him standing behind the table looking up at me with his beady eyes, telling me that he had done a kind of “uh-oh!” thing. He says this a lot. “Uh-oh!” every time he drops the cellphone on which he’s been watching Baby Einstein, or every time he drops a Cheerios, or some other kind of boo-boo.
A boo-boo such as taking a massive dump right onto the hardwood floor. There it was, a lovely little brown log, and our little YY standing right behind it not sure whether to be proud, embarrassed or ashamed of himself.
So I took this as my onus to teach him a wee lesson on the fine art of pooping. I led him to the bathroom, tore off a few sheets of toilet paper, and led him back to the poop. I then picked up the offending morsel with the toilet paper, all the while saying: “Poo! Poo!” with a big grin on my face.
An aside: It’s important to X – and therefore, important to myself -
that little YY isn’t embarrassed about his poop, but rather, is accepting of this wonderfully fascinating element of the human body. We don’t want this guy growing up with a weird complex where he’s ashamed of poo, pee, penises, or whatnot.
So, back to my story: I showed him the poo, letting him know in a chirpy voice that it was HIS poo. He had a little smile on his face, wondrous and fascinated. I then led him back to the bathroom, lifted the toilet seat and threw the offending morsel into the water with a little splash. “That’s where your poo goes!” I said with glee, and told him it was now time to say bye-bye.
Another aside: “Bye-bye!” is another favourite word of little YY’s. He often waves at people, things, animals, and other stuff and says with a loud voice: “BYE!”
And here, he waved at the poo and said “Bye-bye!” as I flushed the toilet. What a happy boy he was, immensely proud of himself. The little tyke may not even be 20 months old, but I’m hoping – and perhaps not necessarily against hope – that he understood the whole concept of poop in the toilet. Good for him, and good for us, too, because eventually we may not have to change him so often after he’s produced yet another chocolate mousse in his underwear.