Not just yet ...

Bruce Lee thinks he's a big boy.

I'm not convinced.

I know he wants to be a big boy. He's moved up to the preschool room at daycare. He can talk - usually - quite well. (Although lately he's taken to repeating a word over and over and over again before proceeding with the sentence. I don't know that it's really stuttering per say ... I'm pretty sure he knows what he's doing. It's an effect more than anything. The response it gets from me is usually a giant breath in which I release really slowly through a somewhat clenched mouth, arms folded and foot tapping, followed by the usual, "spit it out Bruce Lee ... I need to know before next week ...")

He always wants to play with the big boys. When we dropped Jackie Chan off at camp on Sunday, Bruce Lee was devastated that he couldn't stay and sleep in the cabin with the big boys.

The problem with all this is that while he wants to be a big boy, he just isn't grasping basic "big boy" behaviour very well.

Last night we were eating spaghetti and he threw an entire fork-full on the ground. When I looked at him and said "what on EARTH are you doing??", he replied, "I'm a big boy Mommy."

"Big boys don't thrown their food on the ground," I calmly reply.

Bruce Lee looks at me and then says, "I put my milk in my noodles? I want milk on it. I'm a big boy"

"NO! Big boys don't pour milk in their supper."

"Yes. I'm a big boy."

I have no idea what the relationship between being a big boy and adding milk to spaghetti is.

Last Saturday Bruce Lee and I were in his room. I was putting away laundry and he was hiding in his closet and screaming "I'm in here" at random intervals.

At one point, while I was hanging shirts over his head, he looked up at me and went still.

"Do you have to go potty Bruce Lee?"

"No Mommy. No potty. I'm a big boy."

He remains perfectly still and his eyes start to water a little at the edges.

"Bruce Lee, are you going poo? Do you need to go on the potty?"

"No."

Then very, very slowly he lowers his head and looks at the ground between his feet and then back up at me and shuts his eyes.

I look down between his feet as well.

And I see the puddle.

"Bruce Lee you peed on the ground!!!! Why????"

He opens his eyes and says nothing. And then more eye watering.

"Are you pooping???"

(Pause)

"You ARE pooping! Bruce Lee you are pooping in your cupboard while staring at me - what is that about?????"

(Grunt) "I'm a big boy Mommy" (Grunt)

"ARRRGHHHH"

And I pick up a wet, stinky, Bruce Lee and rush him into the bathroom.

There is poo everywhere. All down his legs. In his pyjamas. On the floor. On the side of the toilet.

And I'm dry heaving and yelling for back up and yelling at Bruce Lee who is sobbing and repeating "I'm a big boy Mommy. I'm a big boy."

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs for Jackie Chan or Curtis to come and HELP me.

It's not that I couldn't handle it on my own. It's just that it seemed so unfair that with two parents home at the time that I should be dealing with the poo explosion on my own. I really just wanted some company.

And I was just so angry that he peed and pooped in his closet while LOOKING RIGHT AT ME. I was so angry. I was afraid that I would totally lose it if I didn't have witnesses.

When the drama is over and Bruce Lee is cleaned up and the bathroom is disinfected (read: wiped quickly with a wet wipe) Curtis and I are in Bruce Lee's room and Bruce Lee is sobbing on my lap and sucking his thumb.

I'm holding him and saying "baby, if you want to be a big boy you can't poo and pee in your closet ... you have to tell Mommy and Daddy that you need to go potty, OK?"

And I really want him to grasp potty training. And eating properly.

But I'm not sure I want him to be a big boy yet.

I'm holding him in my arms and he's sucking his thumb and holding my hand and cuddling into me. And then he looks at me and says, "Sorry Mommy. I'm a big boy."

I squeeze him and say, "I know you are baby, I love you."

Because really ... I can't stay mad at him no matter how much pee or poo is involved. And accidents happen.

And one day he will be a big boy and I won't be able to hold him on my lap while he sucks his thumb.

... And he won't be able to pass off peeing and pooping in the closet as an accident ...