My son started reading at 18 months old. Now, I only have the one child, so who was I to know that this was unusual? When the doctor asked my kid to read some messages on his Blackberry, I realized I had something cool going on. (Not to mention the attention garnered at the supermarket checkout. If you were ever in line behind me when the checkout girl was calling her friends over for my 2 year-old to read each and every employee nametag, consider this your belated apology.) So, for such a smart kid, potty-training should be a walk in the park, right? (Go ahead and take a laughter break. I totally deserve it.)
Long story short, my kid ended up being 3 1/2 when he finally used the toilet. Stubborn little mule. And lazy-pants-first-time mom who thought that kids just wake up one day and decide to start using the toilet like the rest of the human race.
What's that? It's agony for everyone involved? A process that involves multiple wardrobe changes and portable potty seats for a simple trip to Target? I'll take door #2, please. (Really? Next time someone asks me if I'm "done" having kids, I'm simply going to direct them to this website. Yes, I know the love you have for your child is all sunshine and rainbows. But do you really think someone who heaved forth a 10-pound anything from such an intimate corner of the anatomy is going to sign up for round 2?)
Want to know the secret to potty-training? Well then, you should probably read a book written by a professional. Because I'm guessing that inviting a cool mom friend over to share a bottle (read: 2 bottles and maybe a desperate dip into the Schnapps when the Chardonnay ran dry) of wine just to drown out the 12- hour crying marathon that your child has begun in protest would NOT be recommended by anyone with a PhD. Basically this method is a standoff between parent and child. (Obviously, my kid had the upper hand for the first 3 years, as I was willing to let him show up to kindergarten in pull-ups. Thank goodness for the cool mom who slapped the Schnapps outta me.)
My husband said, and still says, "So why can't he pee standing up?" (Now, before you go thinking he's a scoundrel, I'd like to tell you that he did buy me a "potty present" once I had accomplished the training bit. I did not, on the other hand, receive a "push present" after giving birth. But really, after my astounding performance in that department, nothing short of a new car would have been acceptable.) And to that I say: Good luck, dear husband. The chardonnay's in the fridge. I'll be at the mall.
For a moment, and let me be clear that it was only a moment indeed, I believed, and was almost quite smitten with the prospect that I, a twenty-something starving artist and a dreamer, would one day be entrusted with the care of another human being. A tiny, little person I could put big hats on, impart wisdom to, and dress up as a Tyrannosaurus for Halloween. Your blog has successfully, though probably unintentionally so I won't hold it against you, taken that moment and placed it in a glass house with a bag of hand grenades set to detonate. I saw it, that blissful, golden streets and rainbows moment, and then BAM!, it was gone...
ReplyDelete...somewhere around "heaved forth a 10 pound anything from such an intimate part of the anatomy."
M a d