As a parent of both a girl and a boy, I am amazed at how much harder it is to potty train the latter sex. Biologically speaking, it would seem as if boys have all of the advantages--they can do it sitting, standing, ready-aim-fire...whatever suits their fancy. But whereas we were able to potty-train EB in less than a month, we are now going on month #6 with B.
We have tried bribing. We have begged. We have even threatened. But I have come to a realization that there is, simply, one thing that is keeping this little guy from using one of his five, strategically placed potties: He just doesn't give a damn.
With EB, all we had to do was go on a diaper hiatus, and she hated the feel of wet clothes so much so that she was almost an overnight convert. BBoy, on the other hand, just goes whenever, wherever. After all, why bother stopping what you are doing when you can just let it flow?
Here is a case in point. A couple of weeks ago, K went to the daycare to pick up B, and saw our son dressed like this:
His teacher explained that B had a particularly crummy potty-training day, and ended up soiling through all of his spare pants. This was the only extra outfit they had left, so it was either Tweedledee or the birthday suit.
We thought it was hilarious. And instead of changing him before heading out to dinner, we decided to parade him around in his outfit of shame the way they paraded around Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter. But instead of hanging his head in shame, this guy walked with his head held-high, flashing smiles at the other diners. And to further prove how little he cared, he decided to relieve himself as we were walking into the house.
We have tried bribing. We have begged. We have even threatened. But I have come to a realization that there is, simply, one thing that is keeping this little guy from using one of his five, strategically placed potties: He just doesn't give a damn.
With EB, all we had to do was go on a diaper hiatus, and she hated the feel of wet clothes so much so that she was almost an overnight convert. BBoy, on the other hand, just goes whenever, wherever. After all, why bother stopping what you are doing when you can just let it flow?
Here is a case in point. A couple of weeks ago, K went to the daycare to pick up B, and saw our son dressed like this:
His teacher explained that B had a particularly crummy potty-training day, and ended up soiling through all of his spare pants. This was the only extra outfit they had left, so it was either Tweedledee or the birthday suit.
We thought it was hilarious. And instead of changing him before heading out to dinner, we decided to parade him around in his outfit of shame the way they paraded around Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter. But instead of hanging his head in shame, this guy walked with his head held-high, flashing smiles at the other diners. And to further prove how little he cared, he decided to relieve himself as we were walking into the house.
In conclusion: this little guy -- he just doesn't give a damn.
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