Milestones

Sometime over the last couple of weeks, Marcel began reaching the light switch without getting on a stool or chair.  Just prior to that, Marcel learned to turn door knobs.

Meanwhile, Tristan combined two skills–turning over and putting something in her mouth–when she rolled to her side, pulled her pacifier into her mouth and went to sleep.

The biggest development on the new achievements scale, however, was when Marcel peed in her bed.

This had never happened before because, frankly, my wife and I were conscientious about putting Marcel in pull-ups at bedtime.  This night, however, we weren’t conscientious.

The next morning, Marcel jumped into our bed and got under the covers.  Everything was unusual about this.

Normally, if she wakes up before us, she just calls for us to come get her out of bed.  If she does come into our room, she usually declines getting into bed and, instead, urges us to take her downstairs for chocolate milk and television.  On very rare occasions, she’ll get into bed with us, and she did just that this time.

And when she did, I noticed that her pajama pants did not match her pajama top.

Mismatch pajamas aren’t just rare in our household.  They are nonexistent.  My wife is a stickler for things like that, so when Marcel hopped into bed with mismatch pajamas, not only did my antenna shoot up, but my mouth shot open.

“Marcel,” I queried, “what happened to your pajamas?”

“I changed them,” she responded.  She refused, however, to explain why.  She just got into our bed as happy as could be.  Like mismatch pajamas, Marcel changing her bottoms is nonexistent.

Even as a newborn, Marcel never much minded dirty diapers.  I distinctly remember telling our favorite Argentinian musician how grateful I was for that trait, only to have him educate me on the pitfalls of rarely-changed, over-full diapers.  Warnings notwithstanding, Marcel and I came to learn the consequences of delayed diaper changes the hard way, including Marcel becoming comfortable with wet and soiled underwear…while sitting on the sofa.

So to hear say that she changed herself, unprompted, raised all kind of alarms bells.  I got out of bed to check on her room.  When I entered her room, I found an even more startling thing:  I found a made bed.

Now, my wife is about as anal about makign the bed as she is about storing pajamas in matching sets, but I never seen her teach Marcel how to make a bed and never seen Marcel actually care about making a bed.  I mean, she’ll tell that it’s her job to make the chocolate milk, cook the dinner or plant the flowers.  She does not, however, tell you that it’s her job to make the bed.  But that morning, it was.

And it was my job to unmake it.

When I pulled back the covers, my suspicions were confirmed.  The tell-tale wet spot revealed that Marcel had peed in the bed.  But far from being upset, I was grateful.  Marcel was finally ashamed of messing herself.  And, for the next couple of days, Marcel insisted on going to the potty before the “rain and mud” came.

We’re told we aren’t supposed to shame our children into potty training.  I’m not sure we could if we were allowed.  (She’s way too cute to punish, really.)  But, given the results, I was sure glad Marcel was willing to take up the cudgel.

 

R.I.F.

One of the things Marcel does while she passes time on the potty is “read.”  When she first started pottying, she “read” books about going to potty.  That’s because “reading” then wasn’t about the “reading” as much as it was about the pottying.  Now that she has the pottying fundamentals down now (at least, in theory), we’re broadening our potty library. So I am also taking this opportunity to broaden the mission.

Specifically, I’m trying to teach Marcel how to read.

I remember learning how to read when I was 3-4 years old.  I think I was laying on the kitchen floor when it first clicked.  Either the youngest or the oldest of my three sisters was my teacher.  I definitely remember that it was “The Daddy Book,” by Stewart. We don’t have it (at least, not yet), so I went with her request, “Green Eggs and Ham.”

I started with the title.  It took a bit for Marcel to see that I was referencing the symbols on the cover, instead of just saying the words like she was.  I had to touch each word to make the point.

“This is ‘Green’.  This is ‘Eggs’.  This is ‘and’. This is ‘Ham’!”

Marcel nodded her head solemnly then did her own pointing.

“What’s this?”

“Green,” I answered.

She moved on to the next word.

“What’s this?”

“Eggs,” I answered.

“What’s this?”, she continued.

“And,” I continued.

“What’s this?”, she again asked.

“Ham,” I again answered.

She nodded solemnly again, then patted me on my shoulder and congratulated me.

“Good job.”

 

Working It

“Daddy! I’ve gotta go potty!”

That’s Marcel yelling for me from the bathtub. For years now, Marcel has had floating instruments for bath time. She has a drum, puzzle/xylophone and a sort of trombone/recorder thing. Unfortunately, we misplaced the drum stick and now Marcel only uses the drum as a cup and just rips apart the xylophone.

Tonight, though, I am beyond fed up with constantly rebuilding that xylophone, so I go off to find that stick so that Marcel will have another use for these toys. I’m in the midst of this quest when I get the call.

“Daddy! Gotta potty!”

By the time I get back to the tub, Marcel is standing up in the tub and grabbing her ass. We’ve already re-enacted Caddyshack once, so I hurriedly grab her up soaking wet and plop her down on the potty, fully expecting some immediate satisfaction. Instead, Marcel asks for a book.

Honestly, I don’t know what to make of this. Marcel wasn’t interested in bath time, tonight. So the potty thing could be a stalling tactic expanded to include the book thing, too. Then, again, she may have come to see books as an important tool in achieving perfect potty harmony. Not wanting to take any chances, I pass her a book then occupy myself with wiping down the puddle growing at her feet. I don’t have too wait long.

Pfft.

That’s Marcel passing a little gas. She’s not sure though.

“Is that pooh-pooh?” She jumps up to check. “Not yet,” she sing-songs as she sits back down smiling at me.

And thus, I’m left wondering just what, exactly, is working.

 

It’s Working!

Over the past 18 months, we’ve bought several potties, several packs of training underwear and even got help from fancy day care. All that notwithstanding, we really only started potty training in earnest a few weeks ago with a potty training boot-camp weekend.

This was actually our second boot-camp weekend. The first one ended quickly and on a soggy note. It literally took less than half an hour for Marcel to piss her way through an entire pack of training underwear!

That first “accident” shocked Marcel. She stood stark still, looking down, in utter confusion, at the puddle growing around her feet. By the last “accident”, she was giggling excitedly. It all came too fast and furious for my wife and I, so we quickly rushed her back into a diaper.

This time, we were more prepared. We read literature which, in turn, armed us with better weapons. We got two new potties–including a Marcel chosen princess potty–easy to pull up dresses, tons more training underwear, progress charts and stickers to reward successful trips to the potty.

Again, Marcel made puddles but they weren’t as many or as fast as before and we, in any event, were psychologically better prepared this time. We didn’t have to be, though. About half way through that first day, as Marcel and I sat on the very-well-covered-couch and took in some TV, Marcel tugged on my arm and informed me that she had to go.

We rushed up the stairs, pulled up her dress, pulled down her training underwear and sat her down. Then, after only a few beats, Marcel, as my mother would say, eliminated. As the diarrhea like flow progressed, Marcel screwed up her face in confusion then, in amazement, said…

“It’s working!”

We’ve got a a bit of a way to go before it’s working perfectly but we’re still making great progress. Marcel is having fewer accidents at school. When she does have an accident, she is increasingly more willing to surrender her “prize” for new, clean underwear. And she’s even starting to prognosticate. This morning, Marcel correctly predicted that the event they were rushing to the bathroom for would be for…

“Pooh-pooh.”

Yes, darling, it’s working.

 

Midnight Train

My parents frown on pride. They say that we should learn to be grateful, instead. Well, at 4 am the other night, I was proud.

At 4 am the other night, Marcel woke up and wouldn’t go back to sleep. This doesn’t happen as often as it did her first month, obviously, but it still happens from time to time.

Usually, we can get her right back to sleep by finding and returning her pacifier or laying the covers back over her. Sometimes, those things aren’t enough and we have to bring her back to bed with us. Often, that’s our first choice. But there are those times when even that won’t get her back to sleep and she constantly asks for things–water, Little Bear, tickling–to avoid any of us going back to sleep. This is what I thought I was in for the other night when she woke up at 4 am, then asked to go to potty.

Now, I’m not a loving father. I’m a spoiling father, which, according to my story, is a whole other, higher level of loving. But at 4 o’clock in the morning, it’s hard to be patient. Still, Marcel didn’t just ask for a drink of water. She asked to go potty, and that’s a big deal.

We didn’t have a potty problem with Marcel as a baby because she never, ever cried about her diaper, which pretty much meant we could change it when it was convenient for us. That great situation, however, is now turning into a not great situation because Marcel still has no motivation to ditch the diapers and go to potty.

I had hoped things would change at Fancy Day Care. Fancy Day Care helps support potty training. They instructed us to bypass pants with buttons and stick with elastic waistbands to help the effort. When I heard Fancy Day Care announce at the new parent orientation that they were potty training the kids, I even let out a whoop. But they aren’t having any more luck then we are and, so, we’re still stuck changing diapers.

Then, at 4 am, Marcel asked to go to potty. Now, like I said, I was skeptical. But this potty thing is important to me, so off we trudged to potty.

Then, after getting on her throne, she asked for a book. Now, I was getting even more impatient and more skeptical, but, like I said, this potty training thing is important to me, so we handed her the book. And while Marcel “read” the book and related to me what was happening, I hunkered down on the side of the tub and tried to bide my time. Then a miracle happened…pffft…Marcel farted.

The first time she ignored it. The second time she turned red and stole a couple of glances my way because she was embarassed. She had no reason to be embarassed, though. She should’ve been proud. Particularly, when she, as my mother says, eliminated. I was proud. My daughter, for the first time, actually felt an “elimination” coming and got us to the bathroom in time to do something about it. I was so proud, in fact, that I woke up my wife and told her to go see the miracle for herself.

Then I was grateful. Because I got to go back to sleep while she took over the potty training.