Siren Song

The sound rose steadily, resulting in a piercing crescendo, impressive in its clarity, yet painful to the ears. (I imagine that even the dogs in the area were wincing.)

John and I made eye contact across the sea of people.

"Your turn!" I said loudly.

"Your turn," he shot back.

John's mother Ingrid raised her hand and offered, "My turn?"

For an instant, I wanted to say yes. But I couldn't let that happen. This was our problem, one that had been plaguing us for over 24 hours since we had arrived in Fort Lauderdale for the July 4th weekend.

I was closest to the source of the siren song, therefore the turn was mine. I bent down and took the screeching Sprite into my arms. "Just push it out, honey. You'll feel better. Come on!" I kept my tone firm but encouraging, even though my resolve was quickly slipping.

"No, I no push!"

Finally, she relaxed within my circle and I took the opportunity to check her Pull Up. Yep. A little bit. "Come on, let's go change you."

She went from recovery right back into hysterics. "No! No poop! No change!"

I dragged her up the stairs to her cousin Alyssa's room for maybe the twelfth time to change the little skid mark she had made. Normally, we would wait for her to finish before we freshened her up, but she was already raw from the last 24 hours of grunting, squatting, and standing rigid to make it through the torture and mere minutes of exposure would hurt even worse.

"Do you think she's constipated?" was a question that was repeatedly asked.

We considered it, but this was not like her previous battle with the bum. The last time, she had a few episodes of clutching her stomach and then everything sort of righted itself after the enema. (And cost us about $250 in co-pay. The most expensive diaper explosion EVER.) Early Friday, she had soiled her diaper after teasing me with "I go sit on the pink potty!" and then taking off to finish the deed in my closet. But Friday evening, she surprised us with the posturing and moans of someone in clear agony, repeating the practice every twenty minutes.

By the time we made it to the tail end of Alyssa's birthday party, we had almost wiped out the wipes and were down to three Pull Ups when I had packed FOUR days worth into her bag.

I had an idea that maybe she was trying to control her body and doing it to herself and told my father about my theory since her daycare class is the potty training room and they've been encouraging frequent sitting sessions for her. Sometimes, kids just react to the pressure and put the pressure on themselves. (So I've been told.)

"Could be," my dad reasoned, although he didn't seem convinced.

But I knew better. I knew my daughter. I knew how stubborn she could be and this HAD to be a result of her refusal to adapt to the toilet like every other kid in her class was learning to do.

So, on it went. Every time she stopped whatever activity she was involved in and started to scrunch her face, the sound of her scream would stop John and me in our tracks and whoever was nearest would immediately crouch down and try to talk her off the ledge.

"Sweetie, you need to just let it go," I crooned. "You're doing it to yourself. Just relax and go poopy."

"No, I not!" her tearful reply bellowed into my ear while she clutched at my neck.

"You're making yourself hurt, you know."

"Mommmy!" She tightened her hold and held on for the duration.

Finally, on Sunday morning, after a night of Sprite waking up in screams and deciding to greet the day far too early even though neither John nor I had gotten enough sleep to play along with her plan, we came up with the thought to give her a children's laxative to push past her resistance and MAKE her go. She would learn the quick way that trying to hold it in wasn't doing her any good.

After giving her a Baby-Lax tablet, we arrived at John's parents' home for brunch and settled in for a morning of bagels and butt-clenching.

Nothing happened except the same air siren every half hour to let us know she was still holding it in and making herself suffer.

We even tried a warm bath in his mom's tub to relax her a bit and relieve some of the redness on her cheeks since the frequent changes and the repeated wiping were making her bleed.

Giving up, we headed for home, Sprite thankfully falling asleep for the duration of the ride while John and I, punch-drunk from the lack of rest, kept each other up and talking for the two hour trip.

Once home, John tried for another bath while I set to making the house right again. Suddenly, I heard painful screaming coming from the bathroom. I dropped the shirt I was folding and ran over to hear John's high pitched praise.

"Doesn't that feel better?"

She pooped! Oh, thank heavens! We had finally beaten her at her game!

She didn't utter a peep about it the rest of the night and was only mildly fearful of the wipes every time we approached her for a change.

John and I high-fived each other. We? Were awesome. 

Later, as I prepped my own shower, I ran across the Toddler 411 book I keep on standby. I flipped through the pages looking for potty training trouble shooting and I bet myself that I would locate Sprite's problem as being typical of toddlers who are trying to retain control over everything, including themselves.

I found the physical description, frequent but small skid marks and looked for the discussion. And felt my satisfaction of diagnosing my daughter slip away.

Constipation.

As I read on, every symptom described our roller coaster weekend to perfection.

I had been wrong. I had been wrong in calling it, wrong in chiding her for making herself suffer through this pain when she wasn't the one responsible, wrong in holding so steadfastly to my own convictions when a simple Google search would have relieved her issues long before the long weekend was over.

Now, I can't call it an absolute Mom Fail since, according to the book, we had treated it correctly, with a toddler friendly laxative to ease the solution out.

Anyway, she woke up the next morning singing a completely different tune from the siren song that had us diving for her throughout the past 72 hours.

So, I guess our July 4th holiday DID end in explosions..

Comments

[Rachel]

Oh man, poor Sprite. This happened to Elizabeth once, and I almost couldn't take it. The wails are like knives right in my heart. We did a tylenol suppository to help the pain and the magic melting nature of the thing took care of the issue. Still traumatic though.

[The Dental Maven]

Glad that's OVER! Whew. And everything came out just fine...

[GiGi @ Incrementum]

I have no constipation stories to share. I hope Sprite's poopy exit door is recovered though.

[Becca]

I am glad it all worked out in the end...pun intended. :)

[Kyooty]

I do think it starts with the holding but everything gets "bigger" at the end and and wont fit out the hole.

So i think you are on the right track, is she drinking enough, summer can make them dehydrated and cause problems like this. A bit of fat might help too, some butter on her rolls or sugar too. Jellybeans work great, of course that's as tested on a adult that shouldn't have eaten that many.... :)

[Robin]

Ouch! Just reading this makes MY tummy ache! Poor Sprite.

[Arwen]

You still may have been right, even though that's not what the book said. I have heard self-induced constipation is not uncommon in potty training toddlers.

Here's my spin:

http://desertspor.blogspot.com/2009/07/spin-cycle-routines.html

(P.S. I hope your potty training is going better than ours. It was wearing me out, so I gave up for the time being. Maybe we'll try again in a few months.)

[Mama Badger]

I've heard the same thing Arwen has. Holding it can cause constipation as everything backs up. Not fun, at any rate. Glad that's over.

To make you feel a bit better, PB loved the Dollarsaur comment...

[Jenny]

I agree with Arwen. Sprite is probably trying to control it, which causes constipation.
My son has the same issue and we are still dealing with it. Although, he is getting better at "letting" it go and "pushing." Keep up the support for Sprite. And maybe actually sitting on the toilet might help?

[Michele]

Potty training that first one stinks (pun intended). By the second one you just give up and let the daycare deal with it. She probably was holding it which just made things worse. She'll get it but it will be painful for everyone until she does. Yeah, big help I am huh?

[bessie.viola]

Oh, poor little Sprite. What a rough time to have this happen - right in the middle of the potty experience!

[jenni]

aww, hon, what a tough moment. if it makes you feel any better, i have similar epic parenting fails on a daily basis :)

[Pseudo]

Don't be too tough on yourself. Even mommies make mistakes sometimes.

Glad little Sprite is feeling better.

[bessie.viola]

THANK YOU for the reminder! I fit in for this spin! hooray!

Here's my post - link me up! http://bessieviola.wordpress.com/2009/07/15/sleep-part-eleventy-trillion/

[Maureen at IslandRoar]

Oh, don't worry. All that matters really is that you did the right thing. Part of the reason she may have initially gotten constipated could have been due to not wanting to give in like you thought.

[Kingsmom]

I am in the same boat with you. We thought we were sinking that ship but the little pooper is simply afraid of pooping. Good luck

[mrsbear]

I know it's been said but it probably did start with Sprite not wanting to poop in the toilet, then the issue snowballed from there. The laxative was the right call. Especially since trying to get her to push out a brick on the potty would only make her more afraid of the potty. Glad to hear you got it resolved. Poor baby must have been miserable. :(

[Casey]

Poor Sprite has had such crappy luck in the crapping department lately. Here's to easy poop.

[Stacy (the Random Cool Chick)]

Awwww! Poor Sprite! I think you called it right, though, because like others have mentioned, sometimes constipation can stem from them holding it for that control factor... :) Princess Nagger did that when she was that age - baby-lax was my friend. ;)