The Time God Told Me I’m a Poopy-Pants Toddler
Everyone has a different opinion on which stage of parenting is the hardest. Some say newborns because they cry a lot and poop a lot and eat a lot and only want to be carried, 24/7.
Others will say its teenagers because it’s hard to find the balance between giving them privacy and letting them make decisions, while still carrying out your duties as a parent in the forms of correction and protection.
Still others will say its toddlers; managing tantrums, learning how to discipline them and… potty training.
We started potty training my daughter shortly after she turned two. She seemed ready- she talked about it all the time, she literally never let me pee alone, and she HATED wearing a diaper. It was about the age when some little girls are ready for potty training so we gave it a shot.
It was a disaster.
The kid refused to poop in the potty. She clearly had to go, but she just wouldn’t do it. She held it in. I tried every bribe and affirmation known to man.
“Daddy will be so proud!”
“I’ll give you three M&M’s!”
“You are so brave, you can do it!”
“The poop really wants to go home!”
Instead, three minutes after she got off the potty, there it was, in her underwear. We literally had 8 pairs of poopy underwear to wash at the end of every day. And being a type A, high-strung, overwhelmed mother of a toddler and colicky newborn, I was filled with rage every time it happened. Which was a lot.
But I knew what kind of mom I wanted to be- or at least I knew what kind of mom I didn’t want to be. Angry, short-tempered, demanding, unforgiving, etc. I want my kids to feel loved and understood and not get scared in anticipation of the punishment or beratement they know is coming every time they make a mistake.
Most of all, I knew I didn’t want to be the mom that yells at her kids. Especially when they’re so young and learning a new and difficult “skill”, if you can call it that. So, I would put on my patience pants every day and be very gentle and tell her, “Its ok, we can try again next time!” when she had an accident.
And the same thing for the second accident (this is totally normal). And third (it’s hard, she’s learning something really big). And fifth (how can this kid poop so much in one day?!) But after an entire day of being gentle and kind and encouraging and washing poop out of what felt like the 100th pair of underwear, those patience pants went up in flames and were disintegrated in a split second when the sixth accident happened. While I was nursing the baby, of course.
And I lost it. I looked at that little girl who, for whatever reason, was really struggling with this transition, and chose to yell at her. Right in her face.
Yes, I chose to yell. I remember in that moment, as if the situation was frozen in front of me, I thought about God. I thought about my prayer time that morning that was focused on love. I thought about what Jesus would want me to do. I knew I could either choose to yell, or, even though I was frustrated and exhausted, I could stay silent. I could choose the path that leads to Heaven, or the one that goes in the other direction.
And I chose the opposite way. Which, if we’re being honest, is less like a path and more like falling off a cliff because it’s nearly impossible to stop right there and turn back before you make it worse. You’ve already gone off the cliff. You’re free-falling and have no control, or at least it feels that way.
Though you’re not truly free-falling. You have a harness and a rope strapped to you and if you ask The Guy Up There to grab the rope, he will. And you’ll stop falling.
But as an inexperienced and overwhelmed mother who only recently started taking her spiritual life and relationship with Jesus more seriously, the last thing I’m thinking about in a highly-stressful and messy situation is asking The Guy to grab the rope.
So, I kept falling.
I took my little girl by the arm and dragged her to the bathroom to clean up, while voicing my disapproval and frustration, unkindly.
Later that night when I was in the shower, I was evaluating that situation again, recognizing that I actually chose evil in that moment. And I was terrified. “Jesus, I am sorry. God, what is wrong with me?! Why am I like this? WHAT DO I DO?!”
Just then he planted a little thought in my thick head:
To God, I am that little girl who keeps pooping in her pants.
Let me explain.
Every time I sat my daughter on the potty, I would tell her, “The poop goes in the potty. That’s where it belongs, that’s how big girls do it, that’s the right way. I believe in you! I know you can do it; I’ll be right here the whole time! You will feel SO MUCH better if you just let the poop out in the potty instead of your pants.” But she still chose to hold it in and poop in her underwear, and now her bottom is sore, she’s bloated, her tummy hurts and she doesn’t sleep well. Oh, and on top of all that discomfort and confusion, her mama, who is supposed to be a source of comfort and loving guidance, is yelling at her.
In a similar way, Jesus says to me, “Choose love. Choose Kindness. Be patient. This is the path to Heaven. This is the right way, it is how holy people behave. It’s not easy, but I believe in you! You will feel SO MUCH better if you just choose LOVE.”
But I didn’t! I still chose anger and impatience and rudeness. Then I’m standing there yelling and frustrated, but at the same time sad and guilty and wondering if my baby girl even loves me anymore.
And when I refuse to choose love and spiral out of control, metaphorically pooping my pants everywhere, how does Jesus respond to me?
He does not get angry, lose His temper or yell. He doesn’t say mean things while dragging me to the bathroom to clean up. Instead, he meets me where I’m at and says, “That wasn’t the right way, but I’m not giving up on you. You are not doing this alone. I am always here; we will try again next time. I love you.”
It became a little easier from that day on to choose love and patience. There are still (many) times where I get frustrated and lose my temper, but when I look at that little girl, I see myself.
I see my lack; my neediness. I see how I, too, am a child completely dependent on my Father to provide for my spiritual, emotional and even physical needs, as well as correction when I go astray. And I know that he will always respond with love.
I don’t want my daughter to think I’m perfect or that I can love her perfectly, because I can’t- only her Father and Mother in Heaven can do that. But I want her to grow up feeling at least somewhat confident that when she makes a mistake, her mama will respond with kindness and understanding and remind her that, even though there may be consequences, she is still loved.
All that to say, if you’re a poopy-pants toddler like me, it’s okay. Jesus still loves YOU and doesn’t expect you to be perfect. But maybe with this in mind, you’ll find it a little easier to respond with love in those tough moments and call upon The Guy Up There to hold tight to that rope.
