What are two things that mix as well as water on a scalding pan of oil?
Ok, I’ll tell you…
A Paralyzing Need for Order and Toddlers.
I am a self-proclaimed control freak. A quality that is excellent for paying bills on time, but not so excellent for fostering the young, developing mind and it’s need for self-exploration and independence.
I’m working on it. Every day. I promise. My children wouldn’t have it any other way.
My son is potty training. Actually, as far as I’m concerned, he is “trained”. He lasts during outings without the need for a restroom much longer than I, but still, it’s tricky. For weeks, maybe months, (although the whole body-cast thing put a five-week hiccup in his progress) he has been asking us beforehand if he can pee.
“Sure! Do you want to go on the potty?”
“Nope. Just my diaper.”
So, we haven’t pushed it. But recently, he has started wearing underwear and taking the initiative to take himself to the potty at home. Amazing!
However, he seems to have an extreme past-life traumatic recollection involving anything other than liquid being added to a pot of anything – porcelain or plastic. This is a huge issue, being that he starts preschool in two weeks and there are “rules” for such bodily functions. But that’s a whole other blog entry. Don’t you fret. You’ll hear about my son’s fecal accomplishments in full detail another time.
Back to the impeding emotional wounds…
No. Not the ones from this post. Those we won’t deal with until middle school, and by then I’ll have enrolled all of us into the witness protection program.
We had just arrived from a fun-filled day at the Zoo. (This particular outing was chosen after one of my anonymous readers alerted me to the fact that I had published a photo in last week’s “Wordless Wednesdays” of my Amex and my Zoo membership. Naturally, I had to rush off to the Zoo to make sure my membership had not been tampered with.)
See how much blasted fun we had?!
“I will get a happy picture of this God-forsaken day if it kills me! Now spin, carousel, and give me a two-minute reprieve from these tiny urchins who refuse to run off in the same direction, leaving me with the intense pressure of making a snap ‘Sophie’s choice’ of which child to save from swallowing crowds of strangers!”
While unloading the multiple items a two-hour Zoo excursion requires, Isabelle ran off down the sidewalk and Zachary proceeded to pull down his pants in the front yard, facing the bushes. Reacting with a jerk of my knee, I yelled,
“Zachary! Wait! What are you doing?” He jumped, startled by my abrasive tone.
It startled me too, quite frankly. We have had no problem with him peeing in the backyard. Right now, we are just aiming for him to be aware of his body and what it’s telling him. Is this really all that different?
But, he allowed me to pull up his pants, and stood patiently on the porch steps while I fetched four bags from the car, his 19 month-old sis from the road, and the house keys from my purse. As I turned the key, I looked down to see urine pouring down his leg from under his shorts. Chin down, eyes up, staring at me through thick blonde lashes, he pouted
“Accidents happen Mommy. It’s OK.”
In addition to the two children, four bags, purse and keys, I then had to collect the teeny, tiny shards of my heart from the cement steps.
I spent the rest of the evening explaining how Mommy is doing the best she can, that she makes mistakes, and what a great job he did by holding it in for that long at the Zoo.
“It was Mommy’s accident! Not Zachary’s!”
Whatever. Damage done.
All Licensed Psychotherapists:
Please send your pro bono offers to
The Padded Room.
Although, the child seems less affected by the incident than the Mother, so be sure to specialize in post, post, postpartum jackassery.