potty woes

I've decided to potty train Leo. I know it might seem like it's a little late. I'm sure most of the kids you know were happily pooping and peeing away like big kids by the time they were three but Leo and I got stuck somewhere in a world of extremely appealing pull-ups emblazoned with Lightning McQueen. Don't get me wrong, Leo is a very smart three year old but the potty just seemed to daunt us both. Anyway, no more! For the past week, we've been diving in to the process (not the potty) headfirst.

Hmm...potty traing with a newborn in the house. You know, this might not be my brightest judgement call. Typical moments are something like this.

"Mummy, can I have a car?"

"Leo, you have enough cars. Look at all your cars."

I look around the living room and it's littered with cars. I'm sitting on the couch full of little hot wheels breastfeeding Russell. Russell is going through a three week growth spurt. I'm always feeding Russell.

"Mummy, if I go pee and poo on the potty will you get me a new car?"

"Yes, Leo, if you go pee and poo on the potty I will get you a new car."

Now, I know this is shameless bribery but I'm not thinking straight at this point. I can hear things happening in Russell's diaper. Big things. Very, very big things. And now there is something warm and wet on the hand that is holding Russell's bum. Something has leaked out of the side of his diaper. A very, very big something.

"Okay mummy, I can go pee and poo on the potty now."

Oh god, it's poo. The something is poo. Liquid, golden brown breastmilk poo is all over my hand and spreading onto my pants. My pants are soaked through. There is poo all over my thigh.

"Mummy, I want to go pee and poo on the potty now."

I try to move Russell with my clean hand but the poo is everywhere. It's all over the legs of his suit. I can see poo stains all up his back. Please, don't let it be on the couch. What is that dark, wet mark on the couch?

"MUMMY, I WANT TO GO PEE AND POO ON THE POTTY RIGHT NOW!"

"Okay, Leo, we'll go to the potty very soon."

Frantically, I search for some wipes. I vaguely remember grabbing a package from the upstairs bathroom and putting them into a backpack for our hike last weekend. I sprint to the hallway, see the backpack and rush back to Russell who's happily rolling around in his own feces on my living room floor.

"MUMMY! POTTY! RIGHT NOW!"

I'm sweating by this point, stripping Russell, rubbing my hand, rubbing Russell, rubbing my hand again. I many never get all of this poo under control.

"MUMMY! I WANT TO POOOOOOOOO!"

Russell is clean. His suit may never be the same but he is clean and my floor is clean. I'm not sure about the couch. I wash my hands.

"Leo, do you want to go up to the potty now?"

"No. In a little while."

"But, Leo, you said you wanted to use the potty."

"Not now."

"Leo, I will buy you a new car if you go pee and poo on the potty."

"No, but, I have enough cars."

Let's fast forward an hour and a half to the point where I do actually get him onto the potty. Russell is settled and dry and sleeping in his crib and Leo and I are in the upstairs bathroom. I'm on the floor. He's on the potty.

"Do you feel like you need to pee, Leo?"

"Yes."

"Okay then, you can pee."

"I am peeing, Mummy."

I check the potty. No pee. Nothing. Totally dry. What is that grungy patch over in the corner? Man, I should really bleach this thing.

"Okay, Leo, try to poo instead. Push it out of your bum."

"Mummy, you should read me a story. Then I will go poo."

One pop up version of Little Red Riding Hood and lots of encouragement later, still no poo.

"Mummy, you should read me another story. Then I will go poo."

I can hear Russell beginning to stir. I'd better pick a short story. One quick read through of Dinosaur Train later, still no poo.

"Maybe you don't need to poo, Leo? Maybe you're finished now?" I don't think Russell is going to last much longer.

"No, I'm not finished yet." Poor Russell.

"Mummy, you should read me another story and I'll go poo. I'll pick the story."

"Okay, Leo, you go pick the story. I'm going to go check on Russell."

Russell is moving around in his crib and grizzling a lot. I avoid his eyes and creep back to the bathroom hoping he didn't notice me. On the way, I notice that Leo has stopped and is standing in the middle of his room with a blank look on his face.

"What are you doing, Leo?"

"I'm peeing."

Oh please no. What is that dark wet patch on the floor? Hmm, What does pee do to hardwood?

Aaaah! I get him back to the potty quickly. Then I see the book in his hand. It's Richard Scarry. I takes an hour to read Richard Scarry, even at the best of times.

"You should read me this story, Mummy. Then I will go poo on the potty."

Okay, I'm reading three pages. No More! Three pages and that's it...hey...what's that smell?

"Leo, did you go poo on the potty?"

"Yes." He grunts, all red in the face.

Hooray! Success! Yay...it's taking a long time...wow, this is one big poo. This is the longest poo of his little life. Okay, whew, I think he's done.

"Are you all done, buddy?"

"Yes. Now can I have a car?"

I check the potty. The poo is colossal. It fills the bowl. Bits of it are clinging to his legs. They should really make potties a lot bigger than they do. I search frantically for some wipes. Vaguely, I remember throwing the wipes from the upstairs bathroom into the backpack...downstairs. And Russell is no longer just grizzling. It's a full on scream.

"Mummy, why is there poo on my shirt?

Let's skip forward again to a happier place. Both kids are clean and dry. My hardwood is clean and dry. The potty is clean and dry. I'm not sure about the couch. We're all set to go out. Russell is snuggled into the sling and Leo has managed to put his shoes on the right feet.

"Are we going to get a car now, Mummy?"

"Yes, Leo, we're going to get a car."

"A new car?"

"Yes, Leo."

"Did I go poo on the potty, Mummy?"

"Yes, Leo."

"Are we going right now, Mummy?"

"Yes, Leo."

I find my keys and grab my sunglasses, totally in control, even remembering that I need to pick up some more wipes while I'm out... And then the dog throws up.

A Win and a Loss

Aidan's soccer team won their championship game today. They were undefeated all season. Aidan was very proud and, after a practice on Friday, a game on Saturday and two back to back games today, also very exhausted.

On another note, we have lost our fish. Aidan's beta fish, Albert Einstein, is no more. Oh well, the kids are over it and so am I. He's been reduced to two sentences and a quick flush down the toilet. Poor fish. There, now he's been given an entire paragraph.

First day of Grade 4

He can't really be in grade four, can he? He was just a baby yesterday, wasn't he?















And now, he was up at 7:25. He got dressed, got himself a bowl of cereal and was outside on the porch with his bag packed and on his back by 7:35. Where did my little boy go?

Birth Story

Well, for those of you not aware, we have a new baby in our house. Russell Orion Van Harten Kuffner was born on Saturday August 23 at 1:00 AM, weighing in at a grand 10lbs 7oz.

We went in on Friday for an application of prostoglandin gel to ripen the cervix, but I'd been feeling crampy all day and my cervix was ripe, so they decided to bypass the gel and just keep me in the hospital to observe the contractions. That was around 6:30 or so. By 9:00 they decided to break my water, just to help move things along, and Kurtis and I went for a long walk all around the hospital and out to the car to get our bag.

After a few hours, the contractions were getting very intense and I decided I wanted an epidural. The anesthesiologist was busy and couldn't get to me until nearly midnight. By that time I was really glad to see her. I was checked after about a half an hour and the baby's head was crowning.

The OB on call was Dr Loosey-Millman and she was incredible. She somehow helped me push out a 10 and a half pound baby in eight slow pushes, without any tearing at all. She was such a wonderful, relaxed guide through the whole process. It seemed like she knew exactly what we wanted without asking. I guided the baby out and onto my chest. Kurtis cut the cord. I nursed the baby right after birth and the nurse and all the doctors left for at least twenty minutes after his birth so that we'd have a chance to be alone with our baby. It was all perfect and I feel very lucky.

We spent about three days, hemming and hawing, uncertain as to what his name was and finally decided on Russell for no apparent reason, really. It just sounded right.



And now, here we are and everyone says we're heading for the busiest time of our lives. It's true that the chaos has already begun and at times it is overwhelming. But I love chaos. I can't wait.

Last night

It's eleven o'clock and my oldest son is sleeping in a room that glows with stick on stars. He's laid out his clothes and packed his pencil case twice in anticipation of the first day back to school tomorrow. His arms and legs are long and tanned and tangled up in sheets covered in primary coloured splotches, sheets he hates, sheets he says are too babyish for him, sheets he nags me to give to Leo. When did grade four sneak up on us like this? I remember grade four.

It's eleven o'clock and my three year old son is not sleeping. The last time his father went in to check on him he sat up in bed in order to show him how he could swim, spinning his arms like windmill blades in a dry land imitation of his brother's front crawl.

His night-time waking has increased since his newest brother arrived. Most nights one of us has to go in and lie down with him at least three or four times. I was in his room earlier, listening to music, whispering about honey bears and mummy bears, tracing my fingers along the impossibly smooth skin of his back and watching his little chest rise and fall, his just past toddler fingers, still so chubby with babyhood, twitch while his little eyelids so slowly, slowly dropped. The image is overused, I admit: his sweaty tousled curls, his rhythmic breathing, and I know it won't last. He's awake again but this time it's his father's turn.

It's past eleven o'clock now and my youngest son needs to be fed. He smells like sweet milk and baby, that soft newborn smell and his little sighs and grunts are enough to make me cry. They quicken my heart. The truth of all these cliches shocks me, even now, even with my third. He is perfect. He is mine and perfect and new.

I feel a sense of deja vu, like I have written this letter to myself once before, tired imagery and all. Maybe it was in grade four. "dear future me", "dear me of the past". This is who you are. This is who you will be. Isn't strange? Like the sun-light that blinds you as you move from behind the trees, around a corner in the road, It erases everything else but it's beautiful. Isn't it?

*amended to add that by 11:30 everyone in the house was awake. My oldest son could sleep through all the noise and I found him reading a book by the light coming in from the hallway. And I remember doing that too.