This little dude was very, VERY anti potty.  I proposed the idea to him several times over the last few months and each was met with screeching and howling and even, on occasion, tears.  "No, diaper!" was his war cry.  But then I realized the answer to the question "do I care what he wants?" was a firm "no" and went into cold-turkey mode.

Cold-turkey mode should also be called Cold-buns mode because it's just bare-ass baby all day every day.  It's been called the "messiest yet most effective" method.  In Declan's case, it wasn't messy at all.  Turns out he already knew what he was doing and just was opting out - because once the diaper came off and the buns came out he was an instant pro.  We did cold-buns for four days and now I feel comfortable calling him potty trained.  He doesn't even wet his diaper at nap or bedtime - the overachiever.

Now we just have to train him that every time he has to pee he shouldn't yell, "MOMMY I GO POOOOOOOP" and we'll be set.

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I'm not sure if he waits until the last possible moment or if he really isn't aware of the need to urinate until things are dire, but when Finn starts yelling, "I'M PEEING!  I'M PEEING!" at the top of his lungs and running frantically in circles, that means get him to the toilet pronto. 

Once the screaming starts, there's about a sixty second window.  This is typically filled by my swooping him up and countering every cry of, "I'M PEEING!" with an equally rabid,"HOLD IT, HOLD IT!" while running to the bathroom, ripping off his pants, plopping him on the seat, and aiming the flow downward.  If we make it with only a little splashing on my shirt it is considered a success.

The best part about the whole thing is that you never know when it's coming.  I suppose this is what firemen and paramedics feel like.

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Marty will have to verify.

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On Sunday afternoon we decided to cold-turkey potty train Finn.  Surprisingly, it's been hugely successful.  I don't remember that being the case with Cael.  I remember months of bribing, pleading and stickers all over the bathroom.  This is either Second Child Syndrome or the fact that he's always been one to announce "I'M POOPING, I'M POOPING," like some sort of deranged car alarm.  Regardless, I'm really impressed.  He has only had diapers at night for almost a week now and he went Wednesday, Friday and Saturday with zero accidents.  Plus, three times we've accidentally forgotten to put diapers on for nap and he's stayed dry.  He's a champ.

As you can see, he's also very pleased with his progress.  He's loving his new undies.

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Cael: I don't eat poop.
Allie: That's good. You're not supposed to eat poop.
Cael: It's not food. It's not even a snack.

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I can't decide which was more fun: picking individual chunks of Cael's vomit out of the clothes in the washer (from the load that I started at 2am), or cleaning up a diaper so explosive that the poop traveled so far up Finn's back it got into his hair.

And it's not even nine yet!

(And, for posterity - Cael, the first time he ever puked: "Mama, I spilled.")

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Last night we began the pooping/tuck in process at 6:55 and ended it shortly before 8:30. He's absolutely adorable when he stalls, but this is getting ridiculous.

Shit or get off the pot has never been so apropos.

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Things you don't want to hear from your nearly-two-year-old while you're in the middle of nursing a baby:

"Bye, bye, boop!"

Followed shortly by, "Oh man. Mess!"

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We're working on potty training Cael. It's going very, very slowly. He'll go in the potty if he happens to have to go when it's time for a diaper change, but other than that he's pretty much a diaper guy still.

In an attempt to encourage pooping in the potty, we flush his poops down the toilet and tell him that's where poop belongs. He likes to wave goodbye to it when it goes. He's actually pretty enthusiastic about the whole thing, but so far it hasn't translated into actually wanting to make a direct deposit.

Today, Cael and I were playing on the floor while Finn was having some tummy time on a blanket nearby. Finn passed some gas (loudly) and Cael ran over to him, waved at Finn's bottom and said, "Bye bye, boop!"

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Usually Cael's bath with Ryan ends with them both calling, "Mama!" That's when they're ready for towels. Occasionally the call will come in early if Cael starts drinking the bathwater and needs a cup of tap water instead. The other day, however, the call for Mama came for an entirely different reason and was accompanied by a panicked, "Help!"

I ran to the bathroom and found Ryan practically crawling up the wall of the tub with Cael secured in his lap. Ryan repeated his cry for help with a look of utter terror on his face and Cael was totally nonplussed.

Allie: Hi, guys. What's up?
Ryan: Help!
Allie: Are you ready to get out?
Ryan: Help!
Allie: Help with what?
Ryan: Get it out!
Allie: Get what... oh.

And there, resting conspicuously at the bottom of the tub was the biggest turd Cael has ever produced. Seriously huge. And if that weren't offensive enough, more poo debris was floating aimlessly through the water, which Ryan was trying valiantly to escape.

Allie: Wow. That's huge.
Ryan: Just get it out!
Allie: How do you want me to get it out?
Ryan: I don't know! How do you usually get rid of the poop when Cael goes in the tub?
Allie: I drain it.
Ryan: Then drain it! Hurry!

I reached over, flipped the switch, and the water started heading for the drain... followed immediately by the giant turd. This probably wouldn't have been an issue had we not made a habit of removing the drain filter during Cael's baths so he won't impale himself on the sharp metal prongs. But, since there was no cover, the turd plowed straight ahead and down the drain only to be stopped by the built-in stopper about 2 inches down. So there it was, in all its giant poo glory, sticking out of the drain like a nail waiting for a hammer.

Allie: Uh oh.
Ryan: What?
Allie: This has never happened before. I didn't factor in the size of the poo.
Ryan: What do you mean and why is the tub not draining?
Allie: It's clogged!
Ryan: Well, unclog it!
Allie: You know you are like a lady standing on a chair when she sees a mouse, right? It's just a little feces.
Ryan: Unclog it!

So, after weighing my options, I decided the best course of action would be to grab a handful of toilet paper and grab the turd. I, of course, neglected to take into account the reason toilet paper is toilet paper - it disintegrates in water. Before my hand made it from the surface to the drain the paper had come completely unraveled. Obvious solution:

Ryan: Get a bigger wad of it!

Bigger wad of toilet paper still didn't make it all the way to the drain. Nor did the next few wads. But now the tub was filled with chunks of poop, wisps of toilet paper and the world's largest turd.

Ryan: Use a baby wipe or something!
Allie: But then I can't flush it!
Ryan: I don't care what you do with it, just get it out!

And get it out I did.

Allie: Okay, it's draining.
Ryan: The rest of the poo is incoming!
Allie: We have to stop it before it goes down the drain!
Ryan: Throw on the cover!

The drain cover does indeed stop the poo from going down the drain. The new problem that arises, however, comes when the wisps of toilet paper and little chunklettes of poop clog the cover. I spent the next several minutes scraping accumulated bits of poo and paper so that the tub could drain.

Later that evening, after everyone had been sterilized, Ryan observed: "You know, I saw it coming."

Allie: The poo?
Ryan: Yeah. He stood up and started going and I watched the whole thing play out.
Allie: That's disturbing.
Ryan: What's disturbing is that all I am thinking now is, "Damn. I should have just reached out and caught it."
Allie: See that's the difference between you and I.
Ryan: In retrospect you still wouldn't have grabbed it?
Allie: No, in retrospect I would have taken a shower instead of a bath.

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No one told me that diapering a crawler was like trying to wrangle a wet rabbit.

Cael no longer lies on the changing table like a turtle on his back, immobile and perfectly content to stare at the ceiling. Now that he realizes he can move, he insists on doing so.

There's a painting on the wall of the nursery of the alphabet with animals. For some reason, this particular piece holds him entranced with a magic not seen since the great and powerful crack star. He can't tear his eyes away. Ryan and I are under strict orders to take him to it every time we enter the room and every time we get him up from his crib. And it's a fierce battle to keep him on the changing table when he's locked eyes on that painting.

The lap belt that comes with the table may as well be a daisy chain, 'cause it does nothing to strap him down. He can wiggle out of that before I even get it snapped. No lap belt can do what ankle and wrist restraints are required for (and I'm not convinced he couldn't get out of those).

When placed on his back, his first order of business is to roll onto his stomach. Then he grabs the railings and pulls himself to the edge, kicking and squirming while trying to launch himself face first onto the ground. If you grab him and flip him back over, he simply repeats the process.

Diapering, then, requires one hand holding onto the baby at all times. Be it latching on to an ankle or bracing his shoulders, if you don't have a hand on him, he's Evil Knievel. You are left with one hand to unbutton the twenty or so snaps on his outfit, remove the soiled diaper, retrieve a wipe from the warmer, wipe, grab a new diaper, wrestle it on (they really ought to sell diapers that fasten in the back), put his legs back in the outfit, and re-button the twenty snaps.

As you can likely guess, when the diaper is well and truly soiled (say, after a hearty meal of Baby Dal, for example) this process is considerably messier and requires changing the clothes of all parties involved (including the table).

Bring your garbage sacks, Gallagher fans, it's going to get messy.

(And Baby Dal poo totally deserves a post all it's own...)

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Cael had poop coming out his sleeves.

And these are the "leak free" diapers. A likely story.

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Let me preface this with a fun fact: Cael has reached the stage in his development when he only poos once a week. The quantity of poo per week has not decreased with the frequency, if you get my drift.

Picture this:

Ryan and I parked in the Costco lot. Miles of blacktop make the already 90+ degree day even hotter. The car is literally filled to capacity. We cannot see out the back window and could not have held another passanger, another suitcase or Tinkerbell's left slipper if our lives depended on it.

Cael has not eaten for four hours and is understandably ravenous. Once he finishes, I'm sitting in the passanger side with one very full baby. He poos for the first time in four days. There's no flat surface (besides aforementioned blacktop) so I have to change him on my lap.

This is precarious. I don't have a tiny car, but he's become a kicker/stretcher, and the way he was wiggling, his feet spent most of the time jammed in my ribs while his head kept bopping the glove compartment.

It started with spitting. A lot of spitting. He got the gearshift, Ryan over in the driver's seat and filled the cupholder. It was a mess. This was before we opened the diaper.

I'll spare you the gorey details (too late for that?) but let me just say, and I kid you not, this little ball of juices actually pees, poos and urps at the same time in such massive quanitites that I'm still trying to figure out where it all came from - and it's all over me, myself and my heretofore unspoiled auto.

Obviously, Cael was confused. He thought that because we bought Costo bulk packs of wipes and diapers he actually had to use them ALL AT ONCE.

Silly rabbit. I figured that one out after my run in with the Costo bulk box of 100 Grand candy bars.

Talk about urping...

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*yawns*

I do not remember what sleep is. I'm pretty sure I used to enjoy it. It's all a blur now.

Ryan and Cael, however, find time to indulge.



I really wish the little one wouldn't sleep all day and scream all night. Somehow I think that I should be doing something besides letting him snooze during daylight, the little vampire. I can't bring myself to wake him now, however, since a) they're really cute and b) Ryan is still mid finals and deserves all the breaks he can get. Plus he lets me wake him up in the middle of the night to change diapers so I don't have to get out of bed (Hey! Don't give me that look! I'm recovering!). It only takes two or three repetitions of his name, a few scratches on the back of the head and a couple of "just give me one minute"s to actually rouse him. That, my friends, is a good man.

My first real "only a mother would do that" moment has now happened. In retrospect, I can't believe I did it. Cael was on the changing table as the Cartys arrived. They stepped into the nursery just as the diaper was coming off and BAM! Cael took that opportunity to let loose. Poo squirted out of his bottom and I threw my hand in the line of fire to block Martin and Kathy from the spray. I used myself as a projectile poo-shield without a moment's hesitation. I can still feel the ghost of the warmth and see the utter shock on their faces. And I still have to clean the carpet. =)

These are the kind of stories I'm going to have now. Aren't you all terribly afraid?

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