Potty train they said! It will be fun they said!

Well, it’s Monday morning and that means it’s Mommy Monday. I sat down with my cup of coffee this morning and thought about all the possible mommy related topics I could talk about today. As I was lost in thought my son J, who is 3.5, came to me and said,

“Mommy I can’t sit down because I have to go poop and get the poopie out of my butt.”

This announcement should have taken me aback, or at the very least caused me to giggle in embarrassment, however since potty training, declarations like this are pretty much the norm in my house.

Now, I’m not going to lay out exactly what we did or even tell you what you should do. I’m a firm believer that every child is different and there is no one set way to potty train. I will, however, share with you the part of our journey that I hope doesn’t one day land my son in therapy.

We waited until J was three to really get the ball rolling. We had introduced the potty and the whole idea of if about a year before but he was just not ready, which was fine. Honestly changing diapers was probably the easiest part of parenting for me, and J never really fought me on it much. By the time he turned three he was done nursing, sleeping in his own bed for the most part, and was riding a bike so I figured it was time to ditch the last bit of babyhood and learn the potty.

When it came to pee, J caught on way quicker then I had imagined he would. By day three he was telling me when he had to go and sometimes even just going on his own. I was pretty amazed, and still am most days, at how long he can go without peeing. We didn’t really use any kind of reward system, just lots of praise and over excitement every time he went and that seemed to do the trick. I think in the beginning we had maybe three accidents total.

Number two, or poop as we openly call it in my house, was an entire different story. They say hindsight is 20/20 and let me tell you, they aren’t wrong. Looking back, I should have seen the signs that we would have issues with poop. He wasn’t regular, he would hide in his room when he pooped, and sometimes it felt like I was changing 3 or 4 poopie diapers in a row because that’s how long it would take him to get it all out. I guess I thought this was normal.

He didn’t poop or seem to need to the first two days of potty training. On day three, he asked for a diaper to poop in. I tried for a few moments to encourage him to use the potty, but it was clear it was not going to happen, so I reluctantly put a diaper on him and let him do his business. We operated like this for a week or two before I thought it was time we really push the potty. Spoiler alert, I was wrong. Really wrong.

I don’t know if there is a Guinness Book of World record holder for holding your poop in the longest, but if there isn’t, I should submit my son. He held his poop in for a total of 7 days. I offered a diaper, a pull-up, we gave him prune juice, apple juice, even MiraLAX. None of it worked. We even tried bribery with chocolate and toys and anything we could think of. He was not going to go. I’ll be honest, I was pretty impressed with his stubbornness.

He would clearly get the urge to go, but instead of just letting it out, he would concentrate and hold it in. I had never seen anything like it.

Finally, on the seventh day, after a week of meltdowns because his tummy and butt hurt, him not wanting to eat, and just general unpleasantness, he went. It was not on the potty. It was not in a diaper or a pull up. It was on the bathroom floor, standing, while he cried into my arms. It was like a scene from a badly written horror story. It took about an hour for him to get it all out.

From that point forward I stopped pushing the potty for poop. He would go in his undies, every time, and for me that was okay because at least he was going. Sure, we went through a lot of underwear (sometimes they weren’t worth saving), and yes, there was that time where he had climbed to the top of the tallest slide at the park and announced that he had pooped and I had to climb up there and get him, but it was still better then him holding it in. He didn’t want to go back to diapers, which was something that was recommended to me in a few mom groups, he wasn’t doing it out of spite which is something I thought for a moment, he was just getting the urge to go and going.

This lasted for about a month, and man I never thought I’d see the end of it. One day though, he sat down on his little potty, and pooped. I have never celebrated something like I celebrated that poop. I would have had it freeze dried and gold plated if I didn’t think someone would call the people in the white coats on me. After about 20 minutes of cheering and jumping up and down I asked him what he wanted, that he could have anything, and he said he wanted a Happy Meal so that’s what I got him.

Since that day he has faithfully gone on the potty every single time. Along the way I had made up a few poopie songs, one to the tune of Frozen’s Let It Go that went something like,

“Let it go, let it go! Don’t hold the poop anymore! Let it go, let gooooo. Let it go into the toilet! Here you stand, neeeeeeding to pooooop! Let it goooooo. Don’t it to bother your tummy anyway.”

I’m a writer but not a song writer okay and he loved it. To this day he still runs around singing it.

Somethings that I learned from this entire fiasco was that you can not force a toddler to do something they don’t want to do and sometimes trying will make it worse, singing about going poop at the top of your lungs, even in public, is completely acceptable as long as you have a small child with you, and to be thankful that I have hardwood floors and not carpet.


I hope you enjoyed reading my Mommy Monday post! If you’d like to follow me for some non-mom related blogging, head on over to my new blog, worddbyfallon.blogspot.com, and check it out!

Thanks for reading!
– Fallon xo


I do not want to have more children.

From the moment J was born, multiple times a year, and of course every year on his birthday I am asked the same question: When will you be having another?

The question is almost always phrased in a way that makes it seem like I will undoubtably be having another and the only thing to thing about is when. I hate this question. It’s personal, it’s probing, and my answer almost always leaves the person who asked it looking at me like I’ve just fully offended them.

The answer is simple though. I will not now, or ever, have more children.

I have wanted to write about this for a while but always found it difficult to put my thoughts and feelings down in both a witty and readable fashion. The fact is, the way I feel about this isn’t witty, or fun, or probably even enjoyable reading material for most. It’s just facts.

I’m not good at motherhood. I do not say that so that you will pity me or comfort me or even tell me I’m a great mother. I know that I’m a great mother. J is sweet, smart, well-behaved, and all around an awesome kid. That didn’t happen by chance. His father and I worked very hard and continue to work very hard to parent him and teach him to be a good person. Parenting and motherhood are not one in the same.

There is this saying that goes something like ‘you can’t pour from an empty cup.’ The basic idea is that if you have a cup, it’s physically impossible to pour a substance from it into another cup, if the first cup has nothing in it. It’s a metaphor for life I guess. You can’t give love, affection, time, energy, and whatever else if you don’t have any of it to give. It’s a great saying and generally pretty true, but it’s missing something.

For me, what I think is missing, is that fact that sometimes your cup just might not be big enough. It doesn’t matter how full your cup is. If it’s only 6oz you can not possibly pour out 18oz (I hope I’m making some kind of sense here.) This is how I feel about motherhood.

My cup is only so big and is almost never full. If I had to pour out more to give to more cups I’d be left with nothing.

I am not good at balance. Figuratively and literally funny enough. I can’t balance taking care of my son, my home, and giving attention to my significant other while also trying to tend to my own needs. Someone/something (usually myself or my partner) is always left with less than what they need or deserve.

To add to that, I don’t particularly enjoy motherhood. I love my son. He is my heart walking around outside of my body and the thought of never having met him crushes me. I wouldn’t trade him for anything. He is not the problem. My general lack of joy for motherhood is.

Something they never tell you about becoming a mother is that you ultimately will lose yourself to it. You will become defined by it. When people see you out without your child you get asked “where is ____” before they ever ask you about yourself. (Some may say the same is true for all parents, however in my experience fathers are usually asked “how is ____” because it’s not unusual to see a father out without his child. This topic is a whole other blog post, I could go on for days. Fathers aren’t defined by fatherhood, mothers are.) When talking about you in conversation it’s usually pertaining to you AND your child, almost as if your name and their name become one. You are no longer asked about your hobbies, interests, or even your career if you have one, it’s all about the baby. I know some woman who grow to resent their child because of this.

I am not saying that every woman experiences this or feels this way. I know multiple woman who absolutely love every aspect of motherhood and I think that is wonderful. I am not that woman and I don’t need to be. Womanhood and motherhood are not one in the same either.

I think the expectations that society places on mothers are almost always unreal and unattainable. I do not know one mother who feels like she has it all. Who isn’t lacking in at least one aspect of her life. I feel like that is a pretty universal feeling. The thing is, for some woman, that’s okay. For others, such as myself, it’s not.

When I tell people I do not want to have another child I usually get a mix of responses. I’m going to lay those responses out for you and give my thought.

“You say that now but once he’s off to school you’ll miss having a baby that needs you!” The truth is that I do not enjoy being needed that much. When my son goes off to school I’m going to celebrate by lying around in my pajamas all day doing absolutely nothing. I’m going to go to the bathroom with the door shut and take day showers completely uninterrupted. Perhaps I’ll go to a diner and eat completely by myself. Now I’m sure at some point I will miss having a routine or a purpose, but that can be easily resolved with a part-time job or volunteer work.

“But you have to give him a sibling! That’s not fair!”
When I spent four hours in agonizing pain to push my son out of my body, and the cord was cut, that was the end of him having any right to my body and what it does. The idea that I HAVE to give my son a sibling is something that fills me with rage so much, it’s hard to have a clear thought. Just because I consented to having one child, doesn’t meant I consent to having another. Just, no.

“You’ll change your mind”
This is probably the one that bothers me the most. The right to change my mind is my prerogative, however, so is the right to have my mind made up. It’s a sexist stereotype that paints woman as people who are constantly changing their minds and can’t make a decision. It’s false and it’s harmful. It’s the reason I can’t walk into a gynecologist office right now and get my tubes tide. Most doctors won’t perform the surgery unless you are at least 30 or have had more than 2 children. The fact that society as a whole doesn’t seem to want to trust woman with making decisions about the bodies and their families is frustrating. I promise you, my mind is made up.

“Don’t you ever get baby fever”
Absolutely. The smell of a new-born diaper, the baby clothes section at Target. All of it triggers a little part in my brain that makes me go “Dawwww look how cute and sweet!” But it ends there. Babies don’t stay babies. They turn into toddlers, who turn into preschoolers, who eventually turn into teenagers. The decision to have another child based simply off of baby fever is baffling to me.

If you’ve stuck around this far I have the feeling you might be thinking I’m selfish or that maybe I’m just doing this whole motherhood thing right. Honestly, you might right about that. I am selfish in a way. I love my free time and freedom and I’m not willing to give it up to have another child. Perhaps I’m not doing this whole motherhood thing right, but this is the only way I know how and having another child wouldn’t fix that.

At the end of the day the decision is mine, and mine alone (its my body, not my partners). Motherhood for me like skydiving for some. I’m doing it, I’m experiencing all of it, but I have no desire to do it again.

Thanks for reading!