First Name: Big; Last Name: Trouble

Courtney Rubin

This article, entitled First Name: Big; Last Name: Trouble comes from Courtney Rubin at partner site Embracing the Insanity.

So, here’s how I started off the week.

2-Year-Old (aka Big Trouble), after eating his breakfast: I try big boy cup.

Me: Ok, let’s find a fun cup and we’ll just pour a little in so you can see if you can handle it now. (for the record, we try this each week and the outcome is never good).

I find a tiny cup, pour approx. 1/2 tsp. of milk into it and hand it over.

He takes it holds it to his mouth and proceeds to tilt it back to drink. I watch the drink pass into his mouth like it should and then he slowly lets it dribble back out and down his shirt into his lap. WHY?! He was doing so good until he let it come back out!

B.T., looking up at me with innocent eyes: Uh oh, I wet, mommy. Take clothes on please. (He meant take clothes off, but it was kind of cute to hear it this way – although not as cute to have to already change him approx. 30 minutes after he was dressed)

I pull him down from his chair and see that the 1/2 tsp of milk has literally soaked him. HOW?!

He happily strips down to his diaper and then refuses to put any other clothes back on and insists on taking the diaper off, too.

Me: Fine. As long as you sit on the potty while you are naked.

B.T., while prancing around the house and avoiding the potty: I nakey, I nakey – WOO HOO. (what is it with boys and being naked?)

As I try to chase him down to avoid any other “liquids” being spilt in the house, he grabs his guitar and starts singing and dancing, a la the Naked Cowboy, sans tighty-whiteys. Good Lord.

I finally wrangle him onto the potty seat, where he sits for a few minutes, recounts the numerous ways you can say poop/pee and tells me how he is such a big boy. Meanwhile, nothing has been inserted into the toilet. Luckily, he was distracted long enough for me to get another shirt on him.

He hops up, I catch him and practically have to sit on him to get a diaper back on before he manages to escape me again and take off running down the hall.

I collapse on the couch, exhausted just watching him run around. It’s only 8:30 on Monday morning and he’s already smacked me in the face with the knowledge that he isn’t even close to being potty trained, nor does he possess the talent to drink from a cup while resisting the temptation of drooling it all back out “for fun”. Sigh, I’ve got a long way to go…..BIG TROUBLE.



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