Tuesday, January 5, 2010

My Girl Wants to Potty All the Time

First of all, I don't even know, at this point, who sings the song that goes, "My girl wants to party all the time/party all the time/party all the tiiii-ime." But let me start by admitting that, for years and years and YEARS, I thought the word "party" in that song was "potty." I really did. (I also thought that Ruby Red Squirt was called Groovy Red Squirt. Maybe I need my hearing tested.)

Second of all, my version of the song turns out to be an apt soundtrack for this period in my life with Jemma. Although it would probably be more accurate to insert "poop" where I used to put "potty." Here's how it goes around here, lately.

We wake up every morning and put Jemma's undies on her after she uses the bathroom. Before we go anywhere - I mean ANYWHERE - we ask, "Jemma, do you need to go potty?" She occasionally says yes, but mostly says no. Sometimes I make the executive decision to make her TRY before we leave the house, because if I don't, what generally happens is that we get where we are going, and she tells me she has to go potty. So we find the nearest public bathroom and take her coat off and take her tights and underwear and boots all the way off (yes, it's always tights; this child only wears pants under extreme duress) because otherwise she isn't comfortable up on that big, germy seat. I am hunched down on the floor, trying very hard not to touch anything and also trying very hard not to let her hands or (bare) feet touch anything. I am sweating slightly. We wait. Sometimes she goes. But other times, she scrunches up her face and says, "Actually, no." And then we wash our hands for half an hour and she ends up peeing later, when we get home.

In the afternoon, to prepare for nap time, I require both girls use the bathroom after lunch and before quiet time begins. Jemma usually poops and pees. I put a Pull-up on her for her nap, read her a book, and tuck her in. Five minutes later, she's at the door. "Mom, I have to go potty." She sings it, happily. I glare at the door, usually mid-e-mail, but I go to get her. It's her get-out-of-jail free card, and she knows it. We go into the bathroom where, likely as not, she does manage to pee a teeeeeeeny bit. Sometimes she poops a little more, too. Again with the Pull-up and the hand-washing and the tucking in.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, she's back at the door. "Mooooom, I did go poop in my diaper." At this point, I might be involved with some raw chicken, or on a phone call, or in bed with the book club book I have very little chance of finishing before next Tuesday. I go in. I change the poopy diaper. And AGAIN with the hand-washing and the tucking in.

I don't know what my point is here, except that yesterday I posted about the song Jemma is currently singing to me, so today I thought I'd post about the one I should be singing about her.


  1. Oh yes... I cannot wait for potty training to ensue once again... 'cause, you know, once just WASN'T enough...

  2. That would be Eddie Murphy, baby....