Standoff

Owen, age 3

My son and I are having a standoff.

Impossibly stubborn, Owen refuses to poop in the toilet. After weeks of cajoling and bribing and failing, I am at my wit’s end.

Owen has mastered peeing in the toilet, but for some reason I can’t discern and he won’t communicate, he cannot bring himself to sit on the toilet and defecate. I know that potty-training has its ups and downs, but I have reached the end of this road. Owen’s poops are now man-poops, which is to say they are significant in size, scope and odor. To peel off his dirty diapers makes me gag. I cannot do it anymore.

So I’m taking the advice of a good friend. I am aware that Owen has to poop at this very moment, so I have removed his pants and diaper. Without a diaper, he has to poop in the toilet, right? He is bare-bottomed and growing visibly uncomfortable. Our conversation goes something like this: 

Me: “You have to go poop, Owen? Why don’t we go sit on the potty?”

Owen: “No, I don’t have to go poop, Mommy.”

Me: “Are you sure, buddy? Why don’t we just go sit on the potty and see?”

Owen (starting to turn in circles, much like my dog does when he has to poop): “I don’t have to poop!”

This goes on for awhile. Owen’s face begins to take on a greenish hue. He’s hobbling around the room, legs pressed tightly together. He is trying to act as if everything is fine. But then, he squats. Squats as if he’s going to poop on the rug.

Me: “Owen, stop! You can’t poop on the rug!”

Owen (quickly standing up): “MOM, I DON’T HAVE TO POOP!”

He is a bad liar. I watch in disbelief as he takes his finger and proceeds to stick it up his little butt-hole. I sense he is doing this in order to prevent anything from escaping. His situation is dire.

I am icy calm. As a mother, I know that we have to pick and choose our battles with our kids. Well, I have picked this battle. I will win this standoff.

I carry Owen to the bathroom, his finger still sticking up his bottom, and gently place him on the toilet. He releases his finger, and out comes the poop. I want to cry out in joy. I do cry out in joy. Owen has pooped in the toilet! I hug him and congratulate him and do all the happy things a happy mom is supposed to do when her impossibly stubborn child has done something momentous.

Our standoff has come to an end – as (blissfully) has our need for diapers.

I’m sad to report, however, that my sense of victory is short-lived. This is because every new day with my children presents the opportunity for a new standoff. Often, these standoffs aren’t as dramatic as the scene between Owen and me – they’re usually about getting out of bed to go to school, doing homework, or brushing hair – but they have the potential to wear me down.

What’s a mom to do?

I’m learning that keeping my eye on the big picture is imperative: What is tolerable? What is intolerable? Am I forcing my own agenda on my child? Should I let him do things in his own time and in his own way? If his way is not the best way, will he be harmed, traumatized, or screwed up for life? Will he need therapy? Will I need therapy?  

My most effective standoffs are those that entail strategizing on the front-end. When I’ve done my research and put a plan in place, that’s when I fare best, ultimately encouraging my children to cross a milestone, accomplish something meaningful, or discover that they are capable of wonderful things.

On the flip side, when I feel myself tipping toward a standoff but haven’t yet asked myself those crucial questions or gotten my thoughts in order, that’s when I get tripped up. The standoff turns into a messy argument, and no one benefits.

So which standoffs are worth our time and sanity? Which aren’t? And which are simply a matter of refusing to reach elbow-deep into a three-year-old’s man-poop? The answer, I think, depends on the day, on my mood, on the child.  

The most important thing I’m realizing? Motherhood is a long road, and it’s hard to walk gracefully when my heels are dug in too deep.