I picked Bee up from nursery school one morning, not too long after the session had begun, and, still concerned about her adjustment to time away from me, asked her teacher how the morning had been. ‘Oh, great!’ she replied, “But she didn’t go to the bathroom today.”
I blinked. Then I blinked again.
“Does she usually?” I asked, so stunned that even my participle was left dangling. Her teacher assured me that she always did, and wide-eyed, I gathered my kid, and left.
Whaddayaknow? Bee was toilet trained. Just not for me. I decided that I had better rectify that situation. Bee was two years, seven months, and halfway to being toiled trained. I was sure I could handle the other half of the job.
That was almost five months ago.
Today, Bee is toilet trained.
But not for me.
Evidently, that second half of the job, you know, the part that I, her mother, am in charge of, is the difficult half. I do not have the perceived authority and organizational skills of a preschool teacher, the lemming-like pressure of a gaggle of peeing preschoolers, or those awesome teeny-tiny toilets in my corner.
Partly my problem is that I have not just bit the bullet, and gotten right down into it. I know what it takes – I have to just throw away the pull-ups, stay close to home, stick her on the potty every half an hour and mop up whatever puddles appear along the way.
Not too hard in theory. In practice however, I might as well be learning to fly a plane. With no instruction manual. Or co-pilot. In the dark. On little to no sleep.
Now, you guys know how crunchy organic I am when it comes to parenting, but seriously, I’m beginning to feel like a chump. Every time I put another freakin pull up on Bee, (‘Three princesses, Mama! Only three princesses!’) I hear my own mother’s cry of old school expectation, ‘Two years, two months! Two years, two months!’ over and over again in my head.
My mother-in-law is way too gentle to ever admonish us over our lackadaisical attitude towards peeing in the toilet, but no doubt she too is beginning to think that we are, quite frankly, just lazy.
And we are. Kind of. I don’t know what I was expecting. It started out that we were waiting for the cues that she was ready – predictable wet diaper times, an intolerance for staying in a dirty diaper, interest in what happens in the bathroom – but she indicated those things ages ago. Am I simply daft enough to think that she’ll just toilet train herself? Just interrupt her play on her own accord and excuse herself to go pee, negating any need for guidance or encouragement (or insistence) from her parents?
Well, she did eventually sleep through the night on her own. Of course, that took two and a half years.
Time for mama to buckle down, take out the big girl underpants that have been sitting in her drawer for six months, and just shit or get off the pot already. Heh heh.
Cross your (legs) fingers for me. It’s gonna be a long, wet week.