Have you ever been to a Potty Party?

Elia and I like to have fun, too, but a Potty Party is about as fun as it sounds. Yes, you are right to be curious about what a Potty Party is, but first what a Potty Party is not. A Potty Party is not one of those morning-after-beer-before-liquor rituals. Nor is it an odd, risque fetish. And it is also not a game played by contestants wearing adult diapers. In fact, a Potty Party is actually an effective toilet training technique for troublesome toddlers who refuse to do the deed standing proper before the throne with the lid up–if your toddler happens to be a boy, that is.

My childless friends, now you may return to your upper tier, kick back and, with your perma-smiles, enjoy the comfort of your abode and all of its unbroken furniture. Your stream-lined adventures shall continue toward an ever unfolding rainbow-colored horizon, while we parents bear our toilet-training burden before the dull, grey backdrop on the inside of a damp, public restroom stall.

We enjoy a sunset respite in Carlsbad as we prepare for next weekend's Potty Party.

On Holding It

New parents, we understand if you’re at your wits’ end with potty training, especially if your son or daughter is a holder. Pee-pee cannot be squeezed out of holders. They can and will hold their pee-pee, no matter how much discomfort it causes them and everyone else involved, until it’s time to take a bath. As parents of a holder, potty training has been one of the hardest tasks of our parenting experience.

When our son turned four, he refused to take typical developmental potty-training steps. Instead, he preferred going in the bath tub. While on errands with Elia, though he filled up on bottles of water and sucked juice boxes dry, he would not empty himself into a public toilet. Elia utilized the tub technique just so he could continue his day without bursting. During scheduled stops by the house, Elia dunked him in the tub, where he could decompress.

After a few months of this, we decided on a new tact in potty training. This effort was exhausting, different from any that we know are typical of potty training exercises, like, for example, using Cheerio and candy rewards, floating toilet targets, special prize incentives, and plain, old-fashioned guilt-tripping. Once we had tried and failed with all of these motivational tactics, we understood that extreme actions would be necessary.

Seb is lucky to have his own bathroom, where he could start out peeing almost anywhere without regard to anyone. To potty train him, we set a simple goal for him to relieve himself in there, approximately 75-25 potty in the bowl. We set off on helping him accomplish this goal by scheduling a Saturday morning “Potty Party” (also known as a bathroom lock-in).

What is a Potty Party?

A Potty Party is a party to celebrate a kind of toilet christening. It takes place entirely within the bathroom. For Seb’s Potty Party, Elia went completely over-the-top and decorated the bathroom with $0.99 store streamers and decorations. We set up a play table in the bathroom with tiny chairs, and had a cupcake ready with an unlit candle for the moment the pee-pee hit the bowl. Then, Saturday morning, we began the celebration.

Do a Little Dance

Elia and I alternated, staying with Seb and pointing him to the toilet. All day on Saturday, sitting on tiny chairs in the bathroom, on our knees hard against the smelly tile, speaking softly, then yelling, then using the silent treatment, then nothing. Seb was there with us, acknowledged our deep concern, but refused to go. And, you know, during this time, Seb was not simply saying quietly, “I don’t want to.” He was dancing, screaming, crying tears, pointing us out the door and making it very difficult for his parents. And, alas, ten hours later, Seb relieved himself in the tub.

Still, we stuck to the goal. The next day, same effort, much less enthusiasm, Elia and I skipped comforting Sunday activities and devoted it to potty training. Again, we alternated, for twelve hours, taking short breaks for food and water, waiting for him to go, but Seb would not. Elia and I, heartier and with more stamina, were relentless. We were determined to wear him down. As far as we were concerned, Seb did not need a bath tonight.

Eventually, after nursing a liter of water, he really had to go, and we wore him out. Seb finally tired of holding. Standing before the toilet, he let out a little tinkle. At that moment, we cheered and, of course, acted as if he was finally doing it. The drama intensified, and little by little, he did it. From that day, with continuing support, he would go in his toilet. Along with that, we tried to reinforce his habit by giving him a preferred toy every time. And so we enjoyed our success for the next few months.

Seb catches his breath for his next potty dance.

The Hangover

It had been about five months since that tough weekend. Seb went in his designated bowl, but nowhere else. Elia and I discussed Seb’s progress, and our shared concern prompted us to re-double our efforts to help our son go pee-pee in a different potty. Since we also have a guest bathroom in our place, this served as the different potty. One weekend, through four hours straight of tears, gentle encouragement, restrained anger, frustration, and staying with him in the bathroom, he held it. Elia gave up after just an hour, and then I took over. Torture, interrogation, pain, water boarding, were all images that came to mind as I sat on a tiny chair nearby waiting. And there went a cherished day of rest.

After a prolonged silent treatment and hours of painful holding, he finally let out a tiny squirt. He pointed to some drops on the rim and tried to convince me that he had done it. I encouraged him to go ahead and let it all out, and little by little, he did. Later that weekend, he made his fifth trip to the different toilet and eventually championed the bowls of public restrooms in Target and Toys R Us, letting it out little by little. In one final push, we taught him to let it all out in a single flowing stream. He eventually conquered toilet in the public Kindergarten.

Seb anxiously awaits his chance to exit the kiddie bathroom.

Celebrate and Give Thanks

We are grateful that the bathroom potty party lock-in worked for Seb. Each child has a different story, of course, but our opinion is that the longer you wait with a holder, the harder it gets to potty train. Nonetheless, our short journey to the end of this final episode was really nothing to look forward to undertaking.

Baby on the Wayside

We have no car seat, no stroller, no custom shelving and no name, yet Elia and I are certainly looking forward to November 11, 2011, as we prepare to welcome the birth of our second child.  Last week we completed the intake forms for St. Joseph Medical Center and requested the C-section birth time of 11:11 a.m.  Why not?  What have we got to lose?

During much of the past eight months, our outlook was not always so nonchalant.  For instance, back in April, Elia and I were looking forward to a weeklong vacation to visit friends in Texas (pronounced “TAE-has”).  They are friends we had not seen for many years.  Elia and I planned to fly over there with Seb, spend a few nights in Houston and a few nights in Dallas, size up Texas with the rest of the world, and enjoy a relaxing Texas-style excursion.  We had an itinerary, plane tickets, a rental car reservation, and confirmation from our friends that guestroom space was available.  We were set to go and very excited.

Unfortunately, a few weeks before our trip, we also had the prognosis from Elia’s general physician on her new pregnancy.  Dr. Angelina determined that her pregnancy was a high risk pregnancy.  After having had a miscarriage a month prior and then becoming pregnant at the soonest opportunity thereafter, Elia might have had another miscarriage any moment.  Elia was grounded until further notice.

With Seb’s flight anxiety and lack of proper toilet training, I left him with her and went solo for a three night trip to Houston and San Antonio.  It was just me there with good old friends Ryan and Jill, Marcus and Tanya, Kyle and Tracy and most of their kids.  We gathered together in Missouri City, Texas, just north of the border, smiling, catching up, discussing business seriously and enjoying Ryan’s home brew.  Meanwhile, Elia’s general physician, after performing some initial tests, had Elia back on her heels, constantly trimming her fingernails with worry regarding her pregnancy which she considered was at risk of another spontaneous abortion.

As you know, these days, any pregnancy after age 35 is considered risky.  I believe age is a coefficient of a portion of the formula used to arrive at the risk index assigned to measure the degree of likelihood of potential trouble.  Due to her age, Elia’s general physician said that the fetus ought to be screened for Down Syndrome and recommended a blood test.  Of course, Elia, at age 35, tested positive for a Down Syndrome baby.  I mean—wow, we are, as humans, relatively speaking, kind-hearted people.  A Down Syndrome baby is a blessing.

By the way, probably the most disturbing aspect of this news was the question we heard from both the general physician and the ob-gyn: “What if the baby has Down Syndrome?  Then what?  Are you going to keep it?  Because you can choose to abort, and now is the time to make your choice.”   Poor Elia.  Dr. Angelina shook her head and gazed down at the box of rubber gloves on the countertop.

At risk of spontaneous abortion, having just had a miscarriage, a Down Syndrome baby, what outlook could be more… disturbing?  A lifeless fetus, perhaps.  During a follow-up visit, her ob-gyn listened to our back-up plan while trying to locate the baby in Elia’s womb with his handheld ultrasound unit.  He tried but could not manage to hear a heartbeat.  He added some petroleum jelly to her belly and tried again.  “Whomp-a.. whomp-a.. whomp-a..”  The baby had a heart-beat: Thank you, Jesus.

The back-up plan was that Elia would have an amniocentesis performed in a week and go from there. The amniocentesis would reveal the nature of the baby’s chromosomes.  The ob-gyn, an elderly Polish man who goes by Dr. Bedros, said that would be a wise decision, given that the window of opportunity to reinforce the cervix, which he observed to be opening prematurely, would be missed after two more weeks.  Otherwise, he said, everything seemed fine and normal.

A week later, Elia and I witnessed the ultrasound on the high resolution screen, and, from every angle, we clearly noticed the distinct shape of a baby, absent penis.  The only indication of a problem was a bright spot on the heart, that, we were told by both the technician and the counselor, is a tell-tale sign of a baby with Down Syndrome–not that there’s anything wrong with that.

After the ultrasound, a doctor arrived to perform an amniocentesis.  In concert with the technician, the doctor stabbed the needle sheath into the belly, narrowly avoiding the baby’s head. Following this, he inserted the needle required for drawing fluid and attempted to puncture the embryo, to no avail.  His procedure required a second attempt.  He performed the stab and puncture routine once more to success and drew a vial of apple juice.

Well, my friends, the results came in, and we were relieved.  The baby’s chromosomes were normal.  The baby is “normal” and it is definitely a girl.   Yes, a girl.  We are happy and looking forward to November.