I thought we were potty trained

One of our biggest challenges with Bruce lately has been his refusal to use the bathroom when he needs to. He’ll start to dance and try to hold it in, and when I try to rush him to the bathroom he’ll suddenly become completely calm and still and say, “See, Mom? I don’t need to go.” (Note to Mom: Yes, I do remember that I used to do this exact thing as a child.) He refuses further urging and requests, and unless I’m willing to bribe or threaten he usually ends up going back to his play until the scene repeats itself. After two or three intervals he finally concedes, and then I find that his underwear already has a sizable wet spot and sometimes his shorts do, too. (Note to everyone: I never had that problem. I had excellent bladder control. 😆 )

The one thing that will persuade Bruce is the opportunity to go somewhere, since we have a rule that we go to the bathroom before leaving the house. Last Wednesday evening was such an occasion, as I had promised Bruce a date to the waterpark to use our POGO passes (on the last day before expiration). I was dragging my feet about going. It was late, we were both tired and getting grumpy fast, and I know Bruce well enough to know that he wouldn’t do anything except the lazy river and maybe some people-watching. But I had promised, so we finally set out. The park was pretty quiet, and by then it was already dark so I was planning on maybe 30 minutes and then finding some excuse for us to leave.

We did have a fun time together, and by our third float around the river Bruce was laughing as we tried to dodge the falling water from buckets and sprayers. I myself needed to use the bathroom, but I thought I’d let Bruce finish everything he wanted to do and then we’d go on the way out. Because I’m an adult and I can hold it.

We finished with the water and started to head to the exit…turns out the bathrooms are not exactly on the way to the exit…and I can hold it, because I’m an adult, so we headed to the car because I could just go when we got home. The walk to the car was getting long, but we were within 5 steps of it when suddenly I couldn’t hold it any more. I didn’t have time to do anything but stand awkwardly between two cars and marvel that I was so well hydrated, while Bruce, who had been a few steps ahead of me, stopped and turned around when he heard splashing on the ground. “Mommy, what is that?” I didn’t have words as I watched my wool Allbirds get darker with wetness, and wondered if they would ever be the same. Bruce stared blankly at the growing puddle, and when it was all done he was the first to speak. “Mom, sometimes, when I hold my [insert anatomically-correct body-part name - ‘cause we are trying to be good like that 😅], pee comes out.” We commiserated for a second, then he grabbed my hand and we finished our walk to the car.

Thankfully, I had a beach towel that was plenty thick to put over the seat. And although I was cracking up inside over Bruce’s confession, I also marveled how it didn’t even occur to him to give me a hard time. I have been (mostly) potty-trained for 36 years, but here I disregarded my own best practices and knowledge and ended up making a wet mess in a public parking lot. Bruce has only been potty-trained for about 4 months and has had only a handful of accidents, but in an effort to motivate him I remind him of past accidents much too often. I was thoroughly convicted. Dear boy.

Stanton was appropriately shocked and disgusted to learn of the accident, but he, too, let it pass once I put the whole load of wetness in the washer. I could laugh about it by then, and once my favorite shoes were clean and dried I almost forgot about the incident entirely. But now when Bruce shows up with a wet spot on his shorts, I have a little more grace to give. What’s one more load of laundry?

-Kiera