I've been neglecting this blog. I know it, you know it. I think we all agree, yes?
I wish I had some amazing excuse as to why I haven't kept up with this blog, or any of my others, or any other form of writing for that matter. I don't. The fact is that the rare nights when dishes aren't piled up, laundry isn't half done sitting in the washer, toys are sprawled everywhere, and I'm actually ahead or caught up on choreography and company paperwork; all I want to do is dull my brain synapses and neurons with Game of Thrones. There. I admit it. I would much rather drown out the noise of the day with a deliciously violent, overly sexual television drama then write.
In any case, many of my once childless friends are either about to become mommas, have just found out they're expecting, or they've been recently blessed with their first child. (Sidebar: what's in the water???) Between that and my adventures with my mini-me, I've been inspired to write once again.
Before I delve into the topic at hand allow me to just clarify: I love motherhood and I love my munchkin- hands down THE best thing I've ever been gifted by god and the universe. It's important that I say this now, because after reading this I might scare you off...
You remember those days when you cuddled with your partner secretly (or audibly) musing what your future child would look like? You imagined yourself at home with your little one, baking cookies together in a pristine kitchen, laughing and smiling. Your hair and makeup looking effortless and natural yet put-together and your little one looking like something out of a baby Gap shoot. The picture of perfection. Well let me tell you, kids have a way of pointing out your imperfection, of humanizing you, of maximizing your propensity for err, and humbling you. And they make you a better person for it.
You'd think after 22 months of learning from my feisty peanut I would remember this fact.
Nope.
Toward the end of January, my curious, spirited, and self-driven little munchkin began to demonstrate deep interest in potty training. We went to the store and picked out her potty, bought pampers, and eased her into it. We followed her lead. After I returned from performing up north, I encountered resistance. The potty became a fight. I had read this was counterproductive to the process so, once again, following her lead, I let it go for the time being.
However, about a month ago, she suddenly came up to me and said "poo? Poo?!" As she pointed to her tush and tugged at her diaper. She was letting me know she had a dirty diaper! Mind you, she still speaks primarily in her own unique form of gibberish. She says, "mama," "papa," "agua," "doggie," "jugo," "mas," and a myriad if other words in either English or Spanish. But most of the time it's 90% gibberish with a few words of actual vocabulary. So the fact that she was using the word "poo" and clearly communicating a need to me without only pointing and grunting was huge!
Before I got ahead of myself, I decided to observe this behavior a few more times for a couple of weeks until I was certain that she had a clear understanding of what was occurring. I needn't have
waited. It was evident she did. So, the time came to purchase her big girl cotton undies, which I let her pick out. Sofia the First; surprise, surprise. And purchase painter's plastic at our local hardware
store to protect our carpet and mommy's sanity. A plan I quickly abandoned once I learned how
expensive that (inset mommy's only expletive here) is. Instead, I found a use for the piles and piles of needless dry cleaning bags my husband leaves balled up in his closet. I simply cut the bags into whatever size/shape I needed for whichever section of my downstairs carpet and taped it down with scotch tape. It was Monday morning, Day 1 and we were ready.
In college, we referred to the week of finals as "Hell Week." We knew we were in for 5-7 days of sugar-pumped, caffeine-infused, over-stressed, sleepless days and nights of paper writing & last minute cramming in the same scruffy pajamas. I now laugh at my naive nineteen year-old self.
This was Hell week. Let me tell you, you really get to know who you are during intense diaper-free potty training. You get to know the you that scoops up poop from your bathroom floor after your little one doesn't make it. The you that gently holds your baby and says "it's ok, it's ok. Next time you'll make it to the potty." When inside you're screaming, "I'm standing barefoot in PEEE!!!"
The you that goes three days straight without showering. And survives. The you that shamelessly eats ice cream, chips, and the chicken nuggets you made your toddler because you're too exhausted to
cook yourself an adult meal. You learn you can live in a house covered in plastic, crayons, piled dishes, dirty laundry; an overall disaster of a house and yet survive. More importantly you learn that your entire week's accomplishments can become about your toddler's bodily movements and that this fills you with an incomparable parental pride.
Even during the frustrating moments, I found myself marveling at her astute conclusions and her mini-adult personality.
I'll give you a prime example-
A couple wise friends who have each successfully raised beautiful children and survived the "potty training games," recommended to me an often employed method of rewarding a successful potty trip with a small piece of candy (ie M&Ms). The idea is that your toddler receives a small M&M once they've successfully gone "pee," or "poo" to reward them and incentivize them to do so again next time. The child eagerly anticipates their reward upon their successful result. It works great. For other people's kids. Not mine.
My daughter figured out on Day 1 within the first few hours of the morning that she did not like feeling urine all over herself. She flipped out. Every. Single. Time. It wasn't long before she figured out how to hold it until we got to the bathroom. The challenge then became teaching her, that though it feels odd, it's ok to release into her potty. So, I introduced her reward (which finally put all her leftover Easter candy to use.) The first two days she eagerly anticipated her reward after successfully going in her potty. This does not mean we were accident free, mind you. In fact, the first two days saw many accidents. However, by Day 3 we started to get the hang of this potty thing. My daughter though, had also reached another epiphany-one her shortsighted mother did not anticipate. She figured out that she essentially controlled when she received her reward via her going potty and that mom eagerly would hand it to her as soon as she did go potty. So, my brilliant daughter began to hold her pee even when she got to the potty. She would start anxiously calling out "potty, potty!" And would evidently need to go. We'd get to the potty and she would sit down, point to the candy bag and say, "Mas?" ("More" in Spanish). To which I would reply, "you need to go in your potty first." She would just keep repeating it. It got to the point where she could barely hold it- she'd start squirming while sitting on the potty and tapping her feet vigorously (imagine a seated potty dance), but she refused to release until I acquiesced to giving her the candy. Yup, my toddler figured out how to negotiate her going in the potty in relation to how many and how soon she received her candy.
I must admit, as frustrating as this was and as exhausting as the process became, I was also genuinely impressed at her sheer will power, her intelligence, and her stubbornness. Which, by the way, I have NO IDEA where she gets it from.
Here we are, at the end of our Hell Week. After all the poop scooping, potty cleanups, candy negotiations, perpetual undie washing, and dropping whatever we were doing to rush to the potty, we are at a place where she's managed to stay dry even through swim class and lunch plus the ride home. She stays dry trough nap time too. She's not perfectly trained yet but we've laid a great foundation. (Or maybe that's what I tell myself to justify the mountain of laundry left all week untouched and the plethora of neglected housework.)
Regardless, I couldn't be more proud of my munchkin and the fascinating little person she's growing up to be. So yes; parenthood is a long, stinky, messy, sleep deprived ride but boy-it's an amazingly unparalleled joy!
-N
