We were out for ice cream at an awesome new shoppe down the street when Dylan announces that he needs to pee on a tree. Umm. No, you can't pee on a tree here, we're on a restaurant patio, but you can pee in the restroom. He was adamant that he wasn't going to go in a public bathroom--I can't blame him--and started melting down. I packed the kids up and brought them to the car and showed Dylan that we have a toddler potty that he can use in the car and he melted down further. He wasn't going to go potty unless it was on a tree or at our house. So I drove us home as quickly as I could.
When we arrived home Dylan walked into the road as I was getting Katie out of the car and I told him that he needed to get back on the sidewalk, no roads allowed. He smirked a little and stepped farther into the road. Nuh-uh, that's not happening. I scooped him up as he wailed and kicked and placed him in the house so that I could go back to the car to get Katie. When I brought her in he was in stage ten meltdown mode. I told him that he should use the potty now that we were home and he totally lost it. He needed a cool down. I carried him upstairs and told him that he was to stay there until he could calm himself.
"BUT I HAVE TO PEEEEEEEEEEE!" he screamed.
"There's a bathroom upstairs. You can pee in there."
He continued to scream, "I NEED TO GO IN THE DOWNSTAIRS POTTY!!!!! I'M NOT TAKING A NAP!!!"
I repeated to him that he could use Daddy's bathroom and the wailing grew louder.
Suddenly, silence. Pin-drop silence. I knew what he was doing. I ran upstairs and found him full on pissing in the hallway. Niagra Falls of pee was pouring out of his gym shorts five feet away from our upstairs toilet. If my face had been a cartoon at that moment it would've morphed into a thermometer and exploded; I was so angry.
I get accidents, I understand that kids have them, but this wasn't an accident. This was stubbornness at its finest. He knew I was pissed. I picked him up, pee and all, put him in his room and shut the door. I cleaned up the floor and stripped his pee-clothes off of him and went back downstairs. My heart was racing. I couldn't believe how angry I felt.
I remember when he was first born and the mom-to-be Internet forums talked about how you will have those days when the baby won't stop screaming and to save your sanity you have to put them in their crib and walk away for a few minutes to cool down. Today, I needed a cool down.
I called Sean and told him what happened and by the end of our conversation I was already laughing about it. Sean is great at diffusing any situation. Dylan was quiet in his room so I tiptoed upstairs thinking I would find him passed out in bed. Instead he was quietly playing with one of his trucks. He smiled at me and said, "I'm sorry I was fresh, Mama." crawling into my arms.
My word, two-year-olds are tough. Tough, but totally worth it. Especially when they want to cuddle up in your arms like a tiny baby. A tiny baby who tells you, "I love you so mutz, Mama."