Polina turns 20 months old this weekend, and we have been potty training for several months now.

She is consistent going to the bathroom in the morning, when she also normally has to go number 2. About 95% percent of all mornings, she has a number 2 on the potty, and I am relieved because I don’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day. Yahoo. Diaper changing has become more refreshing, to say the least.

So yesterday, when Polina didn’t sit on the potty, I was disappointed. I was in the bathroom with her about 15 minutes as she played with the potty and found things to take out of baskets in our bathroom. I patiently put them back and redirected her back to the potty.

It wasn’t going anywhere.

Okay, I sighed. I knew what would happen, because it has happened so many times before.

If she poops in her diaper, it actually goes very near her peep hole. She doesn’t like me cleaning there, and to be frank, neither do I. But she can’t have poop in her crotch. So I have to wipe the stupid thing off.

Wiping with a damp paper towel, careful to get everything off, leads to her squirming and crying. It’s no fun for either of us. So I put her back on the potty, hoping she will learn to use that instead.

When she didn’t go, I wasn’t looking forward to this happening again.

“Do you have to go ‘ah ah?’” I asked periodically.

She didn’t respond.

I went about my business. I was washing dishes when suddenly I hear, “ah ah.” I see Polina by the bathroom, her arm outstretched.

“I think she has to the bathroom. She’s pointing to the bathroom,” said Pete.

“Pete, can you get her?” I asked, on emergency pilot as I hurried to wash the soap off my hands.

I got to her first and snapped one side of her diaper off with one hand.

“Aaaagghhhhh!” I cried.

A walnut sized chunk of orange poo rolled from the diaper onto my thumb.

“Aaaaaagghhhh!” I cried again. Pete looked and chuckled.

“Pete, can you take her!?”

Pete, as usual, calmly sat her on her toilet seat on top of our toilet and closed the door.

“Good girl, Polina.” I heard him say.

I, meanwhile, had enough time to roll my thumb over the toilet to drop the poo, but not enough time to wash my hands. So I waited outside the door, with my icky thumb, patiently waiting to wash my hands, because I certainly wasn’t going to use the kitchen sink for that.

“Good girl, Polina.” I heard Pete say again.

“Did she go?” I asked through the door.

“She went.”

“Is it a big one?” I asked, since she hadn’t pooped in the morning.

“Yes, it is. Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah, I do.” I said, opening the door with my clean hand.

Polina did go on the potty, and it was a big Mr. Hanky. It was so big, I’m pretty sure she was constipated in the morning when I kept asking her to go.

I washed my hands thoroughly. Polina got a sticker for using the potty. The family was happy.

The moral of the story is- discouragement is not a reason to give up hope. Maybe there is something bigger than you expected right around the corner.

Originally written April 13, 2014.