When I hear myself say things like “Spiderman doesn’t want to be your friend anymore!” while watching my 3-year-old’s face crumble to tears, I feel like a crazy person. I feel like I must be the worst mom ever. Then, 1/16th of a second later, my attention is brought back to the moment, to my annoying son who refused to go to the potty on time, and pooped in his beloved Spiderman  underpants. I dramatically throw the underpants in the garbage and say “Bye-bye Spiderman! No more cool Spiderman underpants!” Sobs turn to hysterics and I leave the bathroom before I say something I’ll regret. I mean, that I’ll regret more.

Am I the only mom who is crazy? Telling my son that Spiderman doesn’t want to be his friend, while making a big show of throwing Spiderman in the garbage is not so nice. But, in my defense, I did tell the kid a billion times that it looked like he had to go to the bathroom. I did tell him that I wanted to go to the park but we weren’t going to leave until he went to the bathroom. I did offer him books to be read aloud, stickers as trophies and endless maternal pride. I then threatened him with never going to the park again. None of it worked. My son, who has been potty trained for over a year, decided to hold it in past the point when he could. All when a perfectly nice bathroom was just steps away. And worse yet, he now does this nearly every day. Spiderman is not the first friend to find himself in the garbage can. It started with Elmo, Nemo, and even Buzz Lightyear. I have thrown away many, many pairs of pooped-in underpants.

I know that yelling at L is the absolute worst thing to do in this situation. I know it’s a power struggle. I know that I’m giving him issues. Every time I swear I’m going to handle it like I imagine all the other moms I know do. I’ll say “Oh, Honey, that’s OK, next time let’s try to make it to the potty in time.” In fact, I have uttered those very words only to fly into a blind rage moments later, completely annihilating any positive parenting effects of what I just said. I know all of this, and yet, I can’t help it.

I wasn’t born a mom. I was born just a regular person who thinks it’s really annoying if a perfectly capable person chooses to shit his pants instead of just going to the bathroom. I was born a person who thinks your poop smells bad, and I really don’t want to be near it. That’s the person I was for all my life, and now, suddenly, I’m supposed to just flip some secret, yet-to-be-discovered-in-myself-mom-switch and remain calm? Is that what everyone else does?

OK, back to L who is in the bathroom crying. I go in and begin the disgusting process of cleaning him up. He’s such a gross mess that mere toilet paper will not do and I must use baby wipes. As he catches his breath in big gulps, he asks, “Mommy, is it a messy one?” I want to tell him how absolutely gross it is. How bad it all smells. How I have his shit on my hand. How all I want to do is leave him there and go take a shower, (I wonder if I put wine in a sippy cup if I can take it into the shower?), but instead I tell him that yes, it’s a messy one. And next time let’s try to make it to the potty on time. I then put him in a clean pair of Spiderman underpants.