I Can Safely Say That My Son is Finally Potty-Trained

I frowned upon the let him flop around with nothing on for a while, but seeing as nothing else was working I had to give the bare butt method a try. It look like it stuck. He’s out of diapers for the most part and yesterday night we decided to see how he fare without a diaper on at night. We quit putting diapers on him during nap time and he stayed tried then so we gave bedtime a try. He woke up dry and went to the potty. I’m so proud of him.

It was a struggle with the bare butt method at first. There were a few accidents – one involving a particular Batman car seat, but he got the hang of it after that. Recently, he’s only had a couple of accidents in his underwear but that is to be expected. I truly thought he was going to be 5-years-old and still wearing pull-ups.

Our now biggest step is getting him to start speaking more fluently. His speech delay is frustrating at times because he still talk as if he’s 8 months old. He babbles a lot and at the end he actually says what he want. I think his sentence structure is the cause of that. I should also mention he’s becoming quite defiant and have to question – as well as test – everything I say and do. It looks as if it’s only getting worse as my pregnancy progress.

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“No one graduates high school with a diaper on, they will go when they’re ready.”

I do know that my son will be late attending school. His potty-training hasn’t improved and it’s starting to really frustrate me. Nothing is working. Maybe I’m stressing about the fact that he won’t be in school any time soon. Hell, I can’t even take him to daycare, either. His speech delay is slowly disappearing, but at a snails pace. The only thing he’s hit right on the head for his age is the mine phase and the tornado tantrums.

When he was 2 and before he was taken from me by his dad and was kept from me up in Cleveland for months on end, my son was excited to use to potty, he was ready, he wanted to go. Now, we [my fiance and I] have to tell him to go use the potty. On rare occasion would he run – while holding his butt – and use the potty. 

We tried pull-ups and diapers and that didn’t work. It didn’t matter what was on his butt, he felt safe enough to go in it. Now we’re on the naked method and now when he’s angry at us, he goes into his room and urinate and or dedicates. When we first started the experiment he got it right away, he’d do 1 and 2 in the toilet and he was proud of himself as so was my fiance and I. Now, we are back at square one. He has to be reminded to go to the potty and he absolutely hates it. 

People tell me that he’ll get it when he’s ready. How far along should I wait till he’s ready, 5 years of age? No. Hell no!

“The reason your son isn’t potty-trained yet is because god is punishing you.”

pottytraining

Yep, someone said that to me one of those infamous mommy facebook group pages; one of those, atheist and christians “co-mingling” together mommy group pages. She even went on to say that his speech-delay is because I’m a heathen.

I would have been insulted if I wasn’t so appalled and disgusted.

Yes, I’ve struggled with my son and his speech-delay since I first recognized it before he turned a year old. At the time, my then husband was telling me to not worry about it and he’d catch on. I wasn’t convinced, but I figured that he could be partly right. He’s now three and he’s still only pointing at objects or making “mm!” sounds when he wants something while pointing. He’ll ask for something and he’ll say it, “bwepthewpbububub sandwich!” or “dbubbububbbub outside!” It’s never a full sentence – until recently – when he yelled at my fiancé to “come back here!” clear as day and I was shocked!

It’s frustrating having to understand him sometimes. He has this word for pillow and blanket and it’s the same word for both. It’s a cross of pillow and potty – ‘prittow’ or ‘prillet’, but he can’t say blanket or pillow. He’s not making complete sentences. He can say “shut up, Tommy” easy. He can say “no” but it’s no to every thing when often times he means yes.

I had him in a help me grow/special education for children with delay program when I was in Cleveland I was also taking him to The Cleveland Hearing and Speech Center. When I moved to Akron, I was still taking him every Wednesday, 10:30 in the morning by bus, but that was getting too expensive. I’m reading to him, having to try and repeat things back to me, pointing to things and giving them labels, showing him flash cards of objects. Some he recognized, others he blubbers out the word that I say and doesn’t exactly repeat it.

As far as potty-training goes, I was told by the speech specialist that potty-training isn’t going to go too well due to his speech delay. Which makes sense to me because none of my methods for potty-training is working. The only one I haven’t tried is just buying pack of real underwear with extra padding in them and allowing him to feel the wetness; the mushiness of a dirty bottom. When I first introduced potty-training to him, he was excited and getting the gist of it. It wasn’t until my ex-husband came and took him without my permission or with me knowing while I was at work and kept him for 3-4 months. He came back and now he runs and hides and after he defecated, he’ll then reappear, and once in a while he’ll come to me by himself to get his “booty change” or he’ll just say “I peed!” Again, those are rare occasions.

My son is three and he probably won’t go to preschool because by the time I get potty-training through to him, it’ll be time to get him into kindergarten; and hopefully he’ll be ready by then. Just to add, the entire time he was up there with his jobless father, living with his parents, it was clear he wasn’t teaching him how to use the potty. That was more clear when I saw the evidence front and center this recent 4th of July.

I’m so worried about him and it’s getting frustrating. He’s huge for his age; some people think he’s six and he just turned 3 in June.

I’m at wits end here and I may end up having to take him to a behavioral specialist. I have no problem with them telling me he’s special need, I know that already. Once he get over these hurdles – the most important ones – I’ll be fine. It’s just really bad to me because he can’t tell me if someone hurt or hit him. He just comes crying and gets frustrated when I ask him what’s the matter. He doesn’t know the words to tell me what happen.

I feel like a failure as a mother and I feel like I failed my son.

So for someone who had a religious agenda to shoot at me didn’t help me at all. Religion has nothing to do with my son’s speech-delay or late potty skills. Just because that’s their copout for being naughty and disappointed their sky-daddy in the past doesn’t mean it applies to me.

“Your son cannot be the love of your life!”

The love of my life wearing my shoes.

I was told by someone I knew and once loved that my son could not and cannot be the love of my life. To tell people that Adam is the love of my life, the apple of my eye, my hero, is considered weird, unnatural, questionable. Why? He came from me. We bonded and were very close to each other before he was born. He kept me eating nonstop after all the nausea; kicked my ass during labor, too.

My love for my son is infinite. He’s my best friend and for a while I could tell him anything; tell him all my hopes and dreams – even told him when I was afraid of what he would think of his mom and that he could smell my fear of failure. He’d look up at me, smiling and cooing. He loves me for who I am and I, him. I live for him, he needs me and I need him, more than he’ll ever know.

He can drive an insane person crazy with his antics and all the things he can tear up and get into within 5 minutes but, I love him through it all. So why can’t my son be the love of my life? What’s so wrong with that? Who says that I can’t consider him as the only man I’ll ever love and would die for a million times over if I had to? No one comes before him…no one!

He stole my heart and when I looked at him for the first time, it was clear he stole my face, too. He’s my mini-me, my best friend, my only love, my sweetie. When he’s away from me – even if he’s in the next room napping or asleep for the night, I miss him. I stand over him and watch him sleep. I caress his hands and kiss his fat cheeks. I tell him I love him so very much and I’m happy that he’s in my life.

He’s the love of my life and anyone who feel uncomfortable with that, tough titty.

Sh*t My Son Ruined

Nothing of note – yet, but, there have been some close calls…

Those close calls went straight out the window last month. This is the part – I guess – where it gets worse. Now that my son has gained coördination and a new-found life on his two feet, he’s a little tornado. He’s broken two mixing bowls, a bottle of my favorite syrup, a mug, he’s ripped my Game Informers (that I like to collect) in half, two of my video games and a bunch of other CDs. Sounds awful, right? Well, it may be just those things but, as I see it, this is the calm before the storm. The CD’s he ruined were OS CD’s and it’s hell getting those back.

What exactly can be “out of reach” for a 17-month-old who is 34-inches tall? By the time he’s 2, I’ll have to put all of my things in the closet and never open that closet again. I never seen a child grow so fast as he is; it has to be that damned milk he craves every waking moment. 

The good thing is that he doesn’t touch my rig (anymore – I’ll get to that later) or my laptop. Well, he’ll touch the laptop if it’s on and I’m using it. MyXbox 360 is no longer plugged in, so he’s lost his interest in that, and I put myGuitar Heroguitar away so he doesn’t get the urge to step all over it. I’m assuming the coins jammed in the CD disk tray and the crayons smashed in the hinges of the bedroom door, comes later, yes? Oh man I hope not!

I visited the site  “Sh*t My Kids Ruined once and that was the last time I was on there; which was before my son was thought of. I laughed and shook my head in pity, all the while saying to myself, “That’ll never be me…” Au Contraire, Asilee it is you, and there will be more you in the coming years.

I don’t think I’m ready. I cannot begin to see what the future may hold with my little hell raiser. As I look around my apartment wondering what could he possibly destroy and I don’t see anything. Maybe I’m looking at the wrong things. I’m looking at gadgets and gizmos when I should looking at bags of flour, sugar and canned goods that can one day become airborne.

The close calls I mentioned? Yea, about those. Uh, I almost lost my second child (was once my only child but now he’s the step-child people awkwardly gawk at at family reunions). My son (the 34-inch tornado) was about to make history. He was going to go down in my history book as the first and only person I know that could destroy $800-$1000 worth of parts. The second-child I speak of is my beloved gaming rig/means of work and school. When he deliberately walked up to my desk with my glass of water I sat on my kitchen counter and poured it on my desk, my computer’s life and all the work and money I put in to it flashed before my eyes.

This cup of water at the time was supposedly out of his reach and out of mind. I get distracted for two-seconds (that’s all it takes – I’m a believer) for sugar to turn to shit. As the water trickled and eased its way closer and closer to the end of my Step-child, all I could think of was, “You jinxed yourself. That’s what your ass get for laughing at those poor parents on that website”. I cursed at Karma while it eased closer and closer to my rig and found its resting place on the top of my rig (shudders). I immediately (not proud of this but it was the closest thing near-by) grabbed my sons shirt and got it off of him in 2 seconds flat and sopped up all the water that I could. Nothing else mattered at that moment. Absolutely. Nothing. Mattered.

Luckily, everything turned out fine. The water didn’t touch anything important and my computer lived to see another day. After I cleaned up all the water, I turned and looked at my son who was now sitting on the floor playing with his cars and said, “My computer, my electronics – period, will survive your childhood”. He didn’t even look up at me, probably because I said it in my head.

The other close call was when he spilled another karma filled cup of water near my Xbox. It was less dramatic since I slightly don’t care about that thing. I know you’re probably thinking, “Where are all these cups of water spawning from?” well, I like to drink water to stay hydrated because I tend to not eat because of how busy and tiring my life is so the least I can do is stay hydrated.

Story of my life.

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He’s Still Not Talking and it’s Week 74

He’ll be 17 months on the 14th and I’m a bit worried about my son’s speech development. Could he be a late bloomer and I’m over-reacting? He understands “No!”, “Can I have that?”, “Do you want some juice/milk?”, “Are you hungry?”, and “Come on, Adam.”, “Lay down, it’s time to go to sleep”. He says, “Ma-ma“, and “Bye-bye” but that’s it.

I talk to him like I’m talking to an adult; I mean, he is a little person. I don’t do the baby talk to him and I try to let family members know that they shouldn’t do it either. I read to him and sometimes if my confidence will allow, I sing to him.

My goofy, goofy son.

Dis regard the foot.

He crawled late, walked late, but in other aspects he flourished. He gave up the binky on his own, he was drinking from straws at 7 months as well as drinking from cups (even the non-sippy ones). He wouldn’t use the walker his great-great-great Aunt got him at all – he’d just sit there and look around the room. He hated that thing. He catches on pretty quick and sometimes, all it takes is one time and he’ll get it, I’m just concerned that maybe he’s a bit delayed. It didn’t help that his doctor put in my head that “according to the milestones for a child his age, he shouldn’t be as delayed as he is”. I’m all about those milestones and when a child is supposed to reach them. I often forget that the child will reach those milestones on their own and begin to overreact; I’m really hoping this is one of those times.

Could my concern for his speech be unwarranted? Should I wait until after he’s 18 months to see if anything changes? I understand children talk at different rates but doing Google searches has put me on the edge and now I’m totally worried from all the stories I’ve been reading about mothers who had late talkers. I did read that bigger baby boys tend to develop a bit slower than children that’s not in the 93 percentile (like my son is); they tend to do a lot of things a bit slower than their counterparts. That almost put me at ease considering all the milestones he didn’t hit until he was way past the target but it’s not enough.

I should be happy, right? He’s not talking my ear off and asking a million questions – telling me “no!” every time he exhale, but I want him to at least say more than the two words he’s saying now. Maybe I should just sit and wait until after Christmas, and see if he decides to “use his words” (I tell him this every day – jokingly) then and maybe I’ll calm down and worry about more pressing matters, like potty-training.

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My Son The Milk Addict

Don't let that beautiful smile fool you. There's evil under those lids. Lol.

This was September 7th (my birthday) after we came home from the zoo. He had a great time, and so did I.

Yep, he is. He had the worst kind of tantrum, today. It was the, out in public, on a crowded buskind. If he wasn’t strapped in his stroller, he would have kicked everyone’s ass on that bus. I had just picked him up from daycare and he was fine until we got to the bus stop. I wasthinking, “maybe he’s just a bit tired”. He was falling out and whining, kicking and waving his arms. When the bus came, I thought, maybe he was going to calm down because we were in motion and not standing still. Boy was I wrong, it only got worse. The bus was crowded and I should have waited on the next one but I was tired and all I wanted to do was to go home and rest. So, we’re on the bus and for the next 10 seconds, everything was ok – or so I thought. He cried, he kicked, he screamed, he tried to fall out but he was strapped in the upright position, so it had no effect.

If you couldn’t see where the noise was coming from, you would think he was either possessed or someone was torturing him. His screaming could have peeled the paint off a wall. This was the longest bus ride ever! The screaming and hollering continued for a while and then he decided to pull on people’s sleeves. He was screaming, and reaching for things to grab since he couldn’t grab the person he was mad at. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with my usually happy boy.

Then, it hit me: he wanted some milk. I got off at the next stop and found aconvenience store and bought him some milk. Poured it in his sippy cup right in the front of the store. He grabbed that cup and he looked up at me with so much satisfaction and with a “it’s a bout damn time you figured it out!” look on his face…

All over some damn milk! Really?! He had a nervous breakdown over some …some milk?! I thought there was a toothache or crankiness, but milk?! He nearly ripped a poor woman’s arm off because he wanted some milk.

Oh, did I tell you the part where he was trying to take one of his shoes off to throw at me or whomever? No? Okay, well after he stopped grabbing people he decided to go a step further and take one of his shoes off and toss it at someone with so much fierce and anger, I’m sure who ever it would have it, would have been upset. I was so embarrassed, but at the same time, I did not care because there was nothing I could do. The only option was to spare the people on the bus any more glass breaking cries by getting off the bus and find him some milk and then walk the rest of the way home.

After he consumed all of his precious milk, he was happy, bubbly, a joy to be around. Everything was peachy-keen.

Lesson of the day: Never, ever leave daycare without a fresh cup of milk in a sippy cup or there will be pain.

So yea, my son is a milk addict and I think he needs intervention or something. I think I need to call up A&E and see if they do specials on toddlers.

Just a note…

Hey sweetie,

Yea, I know, I know, it’s been a minute since I’ve blogged here. It’s just that we’ve been so busy and I’ve been so wiped out after I finish my papers for class, feeding and playing with you. Anyway, I was sitting here looking at your delivery room pictures wondering where has time gone. You’re so big now and in a few months – maybe sooner, you’ll be speaking your first words for me to catch on video. I’m going to look up and you’re going to be in first grade and I’ll be working my butt off making sure you have everything for school. Time is moving too fast, I wish it would slow down. About the pictures, it just doesn’t seem real – how fast time is going and how big you’re getting. You weigh 30lbs and you’re 33″ tall, how great is that?

When I was looking at the pictures, I was trying to remember the life before you were in it and I can’t. It feels like you’ve always been here with me – since day one; well, not since day one but you get it. I’m trying to get all my hugs and kisses in, tell you I love you hundreds of times a day, and spend as much time with you I can before it’s all said and done. You’re the apple of my eye and I love you so much sweetheart. You drive me crazy on a daily basis but I wouldn’t change that for anything.

Dealing With Tantrums

My son is the size of a two year old – with the strength of an ox. It seems my son’s tantrums are getting worse as he age. He kicks, he screams, he throws his head around like a wrecking ball, he rolls around on the floor, he cries big old crocodile tears, and screams on the top of his lungs. It doesn’t matter where we are, if he doesn’t get his way, he’ll throw one faster than you can say “no”. I used to call him Quick-Draw McGraw because of how fast he throws tantrums over the the smallest things.  He’s the fastest in the West – and the East.

When he throws one of his famous tantrums, I just sit him down and look at him. If I need to finish cooking, I just walk away and let him have it. There’s nothing I can do to stop the tantrums because I’m stubborn. If I mean no, that’s exactly what I mean. So if he can’t have something, he’s not going to get it. I put my foot down and he hates it. He doesn’t realize yet that I’m very patient and when it comes to kids throwing tantrums in public, I can’t be embarrassed; and I don’t apologize to bystanders. You can’t control a mad baby because they can’t control their emotions. Getting him to calm down in the past has resulted in a black eye, a busted lip, and loose teeth. I learned my lesson after the loose teeth. Wrangling a child the size of a 2-year-old is not wise when they are as strong as a bull. It’s best to put them on the floor and let them have it.

We’ve been in doctor’s offices where he was plotting to rip up all the magazines on the coffee table. I saw his plan in motion and I nipped in the bud. He was thoroughly upset and people watched, and so did I. He realized that his tantrum wasn’t getting the desired results, so he quit. He eye-balled the magazines and I eye-balled him. He’d look at me once in a while to see if I’m looking at him and yea, I’d be staring him down and he just act like the magazines don’t exist. He’ll play with the toys, but not after he gets my smile of approval, though. For some reason, he needs confirmation because in his little head, I’m the wicked witch of the west and I’m the one who tells him what he can play with and when.

I don’t stress myself over his tantrums because we both know they won’t last long and I’ll wait till he’s done.

If this is what I’m going to have to deal with until he’s about 10 I guess, then, someone is in for quite a few rude awakenings and I’m not sure who, yet.

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