Monday, October 3, 2011

Game of Thrones

*Warning: This post contains multiple references to Poop. While the narrative may be a bit fecal-centered, there are no graphic or blackmail potential photos. You can thank me later, E. 



 Elle has been potty trained for over a year. But that doesn't stop her from using all resources at her disposal to manipulate me. She is perfectly capable of going on her own, albeit with somewhat questionable wiping thoroughness and gross excursions on the appropriate-number-of-flushes bell curve. Never one. Either zero or 5, which seems to be the point at which our plumbing infrastructure sighs at her and refuses to cooperate with yet another pull of the shiny handle.



Despite her potential for potty independence, she typically insists on my presence if I am in a 40 mile radius. This is especially true for Number Two. Sometimes just for moral support. Or companionship ("Can you go get a book in case it waits a long time, Mommy?"). Or Affirmation ("Is it a doozy, mommy?"). For some reason for the "big ones" in which some effort is required, she insists on wrapping her arms around my neck while I kneel in front of her in perhaps the most uncomfortable position one can be asked to hold for the duration of the colon emptying.


The manipulation factor is most annoying evident precisely 15 minutes after I leave E's room at bedtime. Like clockwork after I finally coerce her to stay in bed I hear the infamous words over the monitor, "Mommy! I need to go potty!" I am simultaneously frustrated and amazed by this kid's sphincter control.


She knows this is the only phrase that will have me twisting ankles, leaping out of the shower mid-shampoo, or dropping my end of the heavy piece of furniture I may be helping Jay move (hypothetically speaking of course) to arrive at her bedside in nanoseconds. And believe me, you don't want to hear about the time I called her bluff. She can always produce just enough to convince me she really has to go. But the problem arises when she insists she isn't done no matter how much time has elapsed, and will sit there until I lose sensation and proprioception in my lower extremities (see above required positioning for Potty Assistant).


Poop is now a power struggle. I am fully aware that she is using this as yet another bedtime delay tactic, but something just seems wrong about enforcing a time limit on defecation. Obviously I can't let her us sit there until morning, but what is an appropriate time limit? 10 seconds? 5 minutes? This has potential to be one of those things that comes out in therapy sessions 20 years from now. Or the court of law. "Mommy said I had 3 minutes to poop, OR ELSE!"


I must win back The Throne.

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