At 18 months of age, my husband broke out the brand new Bjorn potty we bought in anticipation of potty training our eldest. At first, the boy just looked at it with curiosity. But as soon as he found it had no wheels to spin or buttons to push to make lights turn on, he discarded it as trash.
For months, my husband tirelessly jumped up and down like a giddy cheerleader whenever my son has pooped in the potty. It has been a remarkable display of enthusiasm, considering the source. The poop, by the way, is absolutely vile. The smell is not unlike pure evil and will literally burn your face off like a chemical spill landed on you. I can't possibly describe it aptly without offending most or all of you, so I won't go further. Just know that solids make toddler diapers into deadly weapons. If we just lobbed them at our enemies, there would be no war.
We can count on one hand the amount of times our son has gone #1 or #2 in the potty, which I think is pretty good, considering he isn't even 2 yet. But the more impressive feat is the fact that now we can usually tell when he is about to go in his diaper just by looking at his face. He will be playing at the table, with his cars, trains, whatever. Then, quite suddenly, he will stop mid-step and just gaze off into the nothingness. Occasionally, he'll look in my direction as if to say, "HERE IT COMES."
The times we have actually acted fast enough to get him into the toilet, he has managed a little tiny nugget. Alas, it is not usually the case. The husband hides a horrified grimace while he cleans the kid's bottom and dumps the offending diaper in the trash.
Our diaper pail smells like several things died inside.
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