Category Archives: Potty Training

Noah’s Courage – TMI

Don’t you just hate it when bloggers insist on sharing potty training experiences either out of pride or desperation?  It makes for  just slightly uncomfortable reading, don’t you think?

Well, phooey.  I’m going to do it anyway.

Noah (6 – with Down syndrome) got up from his nap today and I sent him to go potty.  He came back bare bottomed and headed for his underware drawer.  He pulled out a pair and signed “pee pee.”

I said, “Noah, where’s your underware?

He signed “dirty.”

I went and checked – no sign of the clothes.

“Noah, where is your underware?”

He took me to the washing machine, opened the lid, and there they were.

Sure enough his stuff was wet (not dirty).   Kinda strange cuz he never has accidents at nap time anymore.  For goodness sake, he doesn’t even go to sleep at nap time.  But that’s beside the point.

Back to his bedroom – he lead the way.  He put out new underware and shorts and was raring to go.

So, let’s review.

The kid had an accident.

He realized he had an accident.

He knew he needed to shed the old clothes and come get the new.

Not only did he know the clothes needed to go in the washing machine, he actually PUT them in the washing machine.  (Siblings, take note!)

He put the new clothes on all by himself.

And he communicated several times before, after and during this episode, everything from can I get up, to dirty, to I want to watch TV (all in gestures and sign).

It was like, well, a conversation.

Sweeeeeet!

And how about those life skills?  Impressive, eh?

(Don’t tell my other kids about all this – they know I’d be writing a much different post if I was discussing their potty training experiences.)

Why is it . . .

Trust me, Folks.  You don’t want the visuals that would go with this post.

My 5-year-old has Down syndrome.  I am adjusting to the cognitive delays that come with Downs that are resulting in delayed potty training.   No big deal, right?

So how is it that the boy has the ability to poop in his underware in secret,  communicate to his sister what he has done, slide into the bathroom while she finds mom to report the latest, remove his own underware (making a disgusting mess in the process), hold his underware in one hand in the toilet while he flushes with the other (to rinse them out the way he’s seen me do it) . . .

. . . but he can’t figure out how to poop in the potty?

Ask me about my day . . . I dare you.

Seriously, I can’t believe it, but in the midst of the disaster, I actually caught myself feeling kind of proud of my boy for taking care of himself.  Have I lost my mind or what?