Although I do prefer sleeping alone (with Brad), part of me feels really sad when I think about the fact that one day, the thought of climbing into bed with mommy, will never cross his mind. 
Yesterday morning Sam went poop on the potty.
When I uploaded these the other day, I had an epiphany of sorts....
I'd probably hate cameras too...
if every single time I was in distress....
someone just stood there taking pictures.
Wouldn't you?
Will I stop?
Not likely.
This is eight minutes later when she was full recovered from this latest trauma.
Five years ago, if someone had told me that there would be a time when thoughts and conversations would be full of poop, laxatives and dirty underwear, I wouldn't have believed it. If someone had told me that I would someday stand in the bathroom with my finger in my sons butt trying to keep a suppository in place, I would have found it unimaginable. If someone had told me that there was such a thing as Potty School, I wouldn't have understood that it could ever really be necessary. But that's where I am. That's my life right now.
We are on day eight of "a healthy drink" (Miralax) and day two of a double dose. When we went to the doctor yesterday to get the staples out of Sam's head, he could not believe that Sam had not yet pooped. He'd never heard of anyone on Miralax being able to hold it that long. When I described the daily drama of Sam sitting on the toilet screaming at least ten times a day, he had no words of advice. When I told him I feel trapped in our house because Sam has "smears" in his pants fifteen times a day, he laughed at the fact that Sam calls it a "smear". When I expressed my concern that he is scaring Grace and that I am going to have the same issue with her when it comes time to potty train he agreed. He couldn't fix it though. He just told me to double the dose.
I don't know what to do. I don't know why he is so afraid. It's so irrational, but so real. He is truly terrified to poop on the potty. He thinks he's going to throw up. He says it hurts and that the toilet is too high. He acknowledges that nothing bad has ever happened when he's done it before, but it doesn't click.
Although I have a background in child development and psychology, and the doctor has assured me that I am doing everything right, I really fear that I am messing this kid up. I don't understand the block. I don't understand or know what to do with a little boy who will willingly trade his brand new two wheel bicycle and all of his favorite toys for a diaper and then never even ask to use them.
I feel awful. He's breaking my heart but I don't feel like I can back down. At this point, it's a huge power struggle and I am just as stubborn and determined to win as he. I also feel like I have a very slight advantage in that I am not the one walking around with ten days worth the poop in me....
So that's what we're up to. Fun huh?
but I can't help but wish I was going to see them in concert. What could be more fun than a bunch of 30 something mommies acting like they are 15 again while a bunch of guys who are pushing 40 dance and sing?
Anyone with me on this?
Oh, and did you see the girls with the mini skirt and shorts on? Her legs look exactly like mine. It was like looking in the mirror
Last Thursday, Sam decided that it would be fun to try to swing from the door of the jelly cupboard in our kitchen. In his own words, "I tried to swing on the door."
"You did what?"
I just stood up on the chair and grabbed the door. Then I took one foot of the chair and then I just letted go."
This is what happened when he "letted go".
I know that it could have been much worse than a big mess and three more staples in his head. However, after three hours in the ER, cleaning this up was the very last thing I felt like doing. Five pounds of sugar, five pounds of flour, a broken planter, two broken canister lids, a broken picture frame and a jar of spaghetti sauce and a whole bunch of canned goods splattered with blood...
(In case anyone is keeping track, this was our second set of staples in 8 weeks. I'm pretty sure, we will get a social worker if it happens again.)
Taking MiraLAX for five days, sitting on the potty for an hour with the equivalent of Hershey's syrup dripping from your rear, and managing to not poop.
Next step.
Children's Hospital Potty School.
Serious.
As we were sitting down for dinner the other night, Brad mentioned a woman that we know. Anita Coco.
Sam looked up from his chicken and rice with a hopeful expression on his face. "I need a cocoa too!"
Then yesterday U2's Beautiful Day came on while we were driving to the grocery store. I started singing.
"Mommy, how do you know this song? I never heard it before."
"Sam, this is U2. Quite possibly, the greatest band ever."
"Oh, it's about me? Is it about you too?"
