It's all going to pot

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Lain Chroust Ehmann

SheKnows is proud to offer The Parent Trap column, by mother and writer Lain Chroust Ehmann.

As my two-year-old son turns from a baby into a little boy, I find myself waxing nostalgic over his infancy. The way he would fall asleep against my chest, holding onto my earlobe for security. His toothless grin. The little booties he wore.

But for all the things I'll miss, there is one I can't wait to be rid of. The diapers.

I was savvy enough to negotiate with my husband early on; I'd do the 3 a.m. feedings, I'd shop for clothes, I'd handle immunizations, preschool hunts and parenting classes-if he'd do the diapers. "No problem," he said. And he stuck to his word.

Somehow, though, Benjamin has a sixth sense about these things; no sooner does his father head out the door than an unkind odor permeates our small house. Maybe John made some deal of his own with our son, or maybe Benji just prefers the expression on my face and the colorful reaction he gets when I change him. Whatever the reason, I find I'm doing more than my share of diaper duty.

I didn't start complaining until the early days of my second pregnancy when the smell was enough to send me to bed-by way of the bathroom -- for a week. Now that my due date is just a few months off, the idea of having two sets of immature bowels to care for is overwhelming.

I figured Benji would be potty-trained (or housebroken, as John calls it), long before now. After all, he was an early walker, talker and temper-tantrum thrower. It stood to reason he'd learn to use the toilet quickly too, right?

Excuse me while I laugh.

For his second birthday, I bought several pairs of "big boy" undies, decorated with Buzz Lightyear and the Teletubbies. I thought he'd be so enamored of his new underwear, overnight he'd toss his unused Pampers in the trash and be flushing like a pro.

I was so convinced of his imminent success, the next trip to the grocery store I bought the small pack of disposables instead of our usual 96-diaper jumbo pack. "He won't use all of these," I said cockily to the woman behind me in line. "He's potty training."

Needless to say, it didn't work. He couldn't understand why Daddy's and Mommy's "panties" didn't have pictures, too. Content to wear the pants on his head or carry them around like a security blanket, he had no need to actually use them.

I turned to other methods. "Once Upon a Potty" became a favorite bedtime story around our house, and Benjamin often asked to see his "Potty Song" video. Though he sang about "going to his potty, potty" he didn't actually do it -- other than to flush enormous wads of toilet paper while we weren't looking. The toilet was an object of much curiosity and delight, but not in the way we anticipated.

"He'll learn in his own time," friends advised -- friends whose own children were diaper-free, I might add. I wasn't convinced. I had nightmares of my son being the first child to unsuccessfully use the toilet. He'd have to order his Little League pants a size larger to fit over his diapers. How would his tuxedo at Senior Prom look with XXXXL Pampers underneath? Would he be able to hide his deficiency from his college roommates, his future wife? The possibilities were too ugly to contemplate.

The hardest part is I can't reason with him. I can't use bribery, threats or loud voices. I am utterly and completely powerless. Is this yet another sign of my incompetence as a mother? Or maybe it's just a message to show me I'm just not in charge -- never have been, never will.

Because that's the real truth about parenting. We think we have power over our children. We think we can mold them into our visions of what they should be, when in actuality, we're the ones being molded. And it's only going to get worse as he gets closer to adolescence.

The good news? When he's a teenager, at least I'll be able to bribe him to get him to do what I want.

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About the author: Lain Chroust Ehmann's work has appeared in publications such as Woman's World, Bay Area Baby, Chicago Parent, the San Jose Mercury News and others. She also writes a parenting column for the Milpitas (Calif.) Post. She, her husband, and son split time between Boston and the San Francisco Bay Area.

For more from Lain Chroust Ehmann, click here.