If you’ll recall, we called a cease-fire in the potty-training war during the moving process. Moving has been stressful enough, additional pressure on both Jack and the rest of us wasn’t worth it. Instead, Jack has been wearing diapers. All the time. Like potty training never happened.
I can hardly blame him. Jack only liked going potty in “his” potty at home, and home as he knew it is no longer. His one area of control evaporated, so he adjusted the only way he knew how.
We’ve been living in my husband’s brother’s basement for almost a month now while we get settled in our new country. We have a space to ourselves, with bedrooms for us and the boys. We have our own bathroom, too.
For the first few weeks nothing happened. And then, out of the blue, Jack asked to go potty. We busted out the prize box and dangled a few delights under his nose. At the prospect of a new parachute man, Jack went potty. And there was much rejoicing.
Jack was so enthusiastic we had to institute a two-prize daily limit.
On a hike through Vancouver’s Endowment Lands, Lennon had to go. He’s a big fan of peeing in the great outdoors, and pomptly picked a nice moss-covered tree. Not to be outdone, Jack decided it would be a good time to start peeing outside, too. And so he went.
And then he went at Vancouver Place. Twice. And at the restaurant where we had dinner. And he’s used the potty every time, both at home and out in the world, ever since.
We’re still dealing with nighttimes (both boys), but all in due time.
Miracles happen when you least expect them. Or when a little boy decides to expand his definition of control.
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