Not a fun morning. Fifteen minutes after Jean left to take Sasha to school, she returned. Sasha, it appears, had been grabbing her butt and complaining it hurt too much to walk. Again. FUCKING AGAIN.
This is becoming an all-too-regular occurrence in our lives: Sasha’s butt hurts, which means she needs to poop, but the last thing she wants to do is sit on the potty and poop. We don’t know why. We haven’t even put that much pressure on her to poop like a big girl. She just fucking hates it. Won’t do it. Will do anything to get out of sitting on the potty. So this morning, just like we’ve done many times before, we had to pick her up, take off her undies, and literally hold her down on the toilet.
I gave the nod to Jean—I can handle this—and she went off to work. But still, Sasha would not poop. She was crying, struggling, unable to relax. I tried to remind her about Monday night, when her mom went through this with her and she did actually, finally poop, and how much better she felt afterwards, and how the very next morning the first thing she’d said to me was “Daddy, I pooped!” Sasha didn’t care. She screamed and cried. Eventually she peed, and eventually we gave up. She wiped herself and stood up.
Then she said, “Daddy, I want to poop.”
Back on the pot she went, and this time at least there were no tears. No poop, either, alas.
We gave up again, and I sent her to go watch SpongeBob while I had a quick shower and got dressed. By then, of course, she’d gotten settled in to the TV and freaked out when I told her to turn it off. More tears, more screaming, and, after actually spanking her—yes, I spanked my kid for the first time ever, lightly but angrily—I wound up having to pick her up and drag her, shoeless, out the door. Tears and screaming all the way to the F train, where finally she started to quiet down. And still no poop.
What the hell are we doing wrong with this 3-and-a-half-year-old? I mean, besides placing too much emphasis on pooping and then getting angry at her when she doesn’t, thereby giving her a psychological complex that will haunt her for the next few decades (and enrich legions of therapists)? We’ve done the star-sticker system, we’ve tried more immediate enticements, we’ve tried threats and punishments, we’ve tried laxatives and wheat germ and salad, we’ve tried ignoring the whole thing and letting her proceed at her own potty-training pace. None of it has worked. The kid just seems to prefer shuffling down the street in pain, grabbing her butt, until one night she’ll blast an enormous dump in her diaper or, more often now, her undies.
Please, someone, help us with this shitty situation!