When my son was 21 months old, we started toilet training with the firm belief that he’d be on his way to becoming a potty champion in a couple of weeks. 

He seemed ready.  He was uncomfortable in dirty diapers and wanted them to be changed immediately.  He announced when he needed to go and used different words for peeing and pooping. 

The little helpful guy was even in the habit of tearing a piece of tissue and handing it over to me when I was on the toilet giving me the impression he knew what went on. 

He was also very excited to begin trying.  He appeared to understand my instructions that were accompanied with a demonstration that involved sitting him on the potty while I attempted to mimic the low, grunting noises he sometimes made when he pooped in his diaper. 

Boy, did he get the message! 

For a while, all he would do was sit on the potty and grunt while we continued to have accidents after accidents off the potty. 

More than anything else, he seemed to enjoy running around without diapers. After all, it meant he got an unobstructed access to parts of his body that were under wraps before.

Then his father had a brilliant idea.  It involved putting one of our little guy’s hands in a cup of warm water after sitting him on the potty when he indicated he wanted to pee. 

The logic, as explained to me by his Dad, was that little boys always pee when they get in a warm tub or pool and that a hand in a cup should have the same effect.

I was up for trying anything.  So, the next time our son announced he had to pee, we sat him down on his potty and put one of his hands in a cup of warm water. 

That earned us a big smile but he still chose to pee at the corner of the living room a few minutes later.

In fact, the only thing that came out of that crazy idea was that from there after, when he sat on the potty, he asked for a cup of water. 

Not having had any success to propel me forward, I was getting increasingly frustrated with the whole process. 

During one of our potty training afternoons, when he jumped off the toy car he was riding sans diapers, ran to me and announced he needed to poop, I rolled my eyes and sighed audibly. 

To my surprise, he immediately turned around and sprinted to his bedroom. 

When he reappeared he had a diaper in his hands.  He promptly climbed the couch, laid himself down flat and indicated with a certain level of urgency he wanted the diaper on. 

It turns out neither I nor he was ready for potty training.  But unlike myself, my son was able to clearly and unambiguously communicate that to me.

Yemisrach Kifle is a teacher, a freelance writer and a mother.  Currently, she lives in Dalian, China and blogs about her experiences at Don’t Eat My Buchela! (www.dalianmitmita.com)