Bennett has now been potty trained for two months (cue happy dance) and it’s been four weeks since he had an accident. It all went down quickly and better than I could have hoped: Blake forgot to bring a new diaper for him after swim lessons one Sunday, I forced Bennett to go on the potty in the change room (he was complaining, “My penis hurts!” = “I have to go pee!”), and then when we got home I never again put him into a daytime diaper.
This may seem like a harsh thing to do to a special needs kid (and believe me, there were lots of accidents in the beginning, including a No. 2 for the babysitter!) but I read a blog post by a mom whose son has the same genetic condition as Bennett, whom she toilet trained at age three. So I thought, “We are so done with diapers.” With lots of reminders about peeing in the potty, and plenty of praise for keeping those Nemo briefs dry, Bennett took to the toilet.
In fact, it’s fair to say the act of flushing things other than plain water down the toilet has proven a source of unrelenting fascination for my son. The potty has become a magic portal, a watery gateway to another realm. Where does the pee and poop go? What does that hole in the bottom lead to? In recent weeks, Bennett has launched his own unauthorized experiment to find out. He has tried flushing the following items down the commode, with varying degrees of success:
- Two small tubes of toothpaste (success!)
- One large bath towel (um, not so much)
- A Beauty and the Beast book (ditto)
- His runners (they float)
- Three pairs of Nemo underpants (as a friend commented: “Maybe the Nemo briefs are just trying to find their way home to the ocean?”)
It reminds me of the Robert Munsch book Love You Forever, in which the toddler boy flushes his Mom’s watch down the toilet. It’s exasperating.
Bennett’s antics look hilarious in a blog post (I mean, flushing Nemo gonch? He’s clearly a comic genius) and in reality it is funny when you catch him in the act. Me: “Where are your underpants?” Bennett smiles. Me: “Where are they? Well? Answer me.” Bennett: “I flushed down toilet, Mommy!” (I mean, he’s so proud of himself, you almost want to congratulate him.) Me: “That’s a bad thing you did! We don’t flush underpants! Only pee and poop and toilet paper! OK?” And then three days later he’s at it again. Sigh.
Maybe I need to invest in some Shrek gonch. Surely an ogre is too big for a journey down the magic portal? And at any rate I suppose I should be thankful — Bennett hasn’t tried flushing my watch. Yet.