Potty training is kind of like going into battle. You're using all your training and the skills you've developed as a parent to address your child's needs. And keep those needs from wetting the floor and their underpants. Dilligence, patience, foresight, mindfulness... I've developed none of these skills. This is why we've put it off so long, under the auspice that 'she'll let us know when she's ready'. It takes a herculean effort for me to be prepared and organized for anything. Instead, I am great at staying in the moment. I am just perpetually late for that moment. I am always fifteen minutes behind schedule leaving the house no matter where we're going. In my hurried dash for the door, I barely remember to bring Ann, never mind to ask her if she needs to pee and give her a calm and collected moment on the potty just in case. My timelines are too tight for that, people.
So this has been challenging for both of us. My first discovery was that unless her undercarriage is completely bare, she thinks she's wearing something to safely contain any emissions. Underpants are for professionals, nudity is safest until you've got a handle on your functions. Which leads me to discovery number two: it is very difficult to look like a competent parent when you are potty-training. In general, you look like an irresponsible a$$hole, and your child just looks poorly-behaved. Aside from flashing private parts at everyone, they pee in the most inappropriate of places. The first day, Ann peed in the grocery store line-up. Being the irresponsible customer I am, I abandoned the pee puddle to push through the throng of people at the till ("Oh- sorry, sir! Excuse me, ma'am. Heads up, people! Watch your feet!") to try to rush to the toilet to contain some of it. Instead, the urinary trail just continued to the washroom. It was like Hansel and Gretel. Then I had to bud back in line, and politely ask for an extra bag for her urine- soaked underpants. Yes, plastic. Of course I'll pay the extra charge. Now I'm rude, out of pocket, and killing sea turtles with plastic bags. Even worse is if she was wearing pants, and we have to walk back to the car with all her business on display. Can I get arrested for that? Toddler-hood is fraught with opportunities to get a criminal record.
The next day we had to go to the building supply store. It's one of those ones with an underground parking area to pick up 2x4's, shingles, etc. Of course Ann had to pee. With nary a washroom in sight, I tried to find a secluded corner that didn't contain bags of cement and helpful men in fluorescent vests wanting to fetch me lumber. How embarrassing to have to get your child to do something you might yourself be arrested for, but outside of carrying a special car potty, what are you going to do? And then you have a potty in your trunk filled with pee, and I'm just not careful enough on corners for that to be practical. But I digress. We did our squat as quietly as possible. Which isn't quiet at all because there is a 'Pee Come Out' song, and applause ("Say 'whooaaa', Mommy"). Additionally, I didn't get her shoes off in time. I tried to walk back to the car with dignity- nodding politely at the workers in vests- but urine kept squelching out the holes in her crocs. And it had distance, velocity and height.
Continuing in my series of mortifying, toilet-related incidents; last week, we ferried to Vancouver for a single night on three separate occasions. Numerous things:
1. Ferry washrooms. With their extremely loud and unpredictable automatic flushes, these are scary places. Ann screams when they go off and bangs on the door with her fists. Again, not behaviour associated with 'good' parenting.
2. Docking. They really don't want you to hold up the unloading of vehicles. But obviously she had to pee (though she didn't have to, mere seconds earlier). After banging my head against the steering wheel, I yanked her out of the car and up the stairs to the washroom just as the gates were opening. I briefly considered trying to find a quiet place to pee on the car deck, but it's different than a building store parking lot, what with every car being full. Of grumpy travelers. Watching me abandon my vehicle during unloading. I managed to make it back in time, and get her buckled in (which is good, because the ferry in Tsawwassen pretty much empties onto the freeway) with no mishaps. I had forgotten to put her shoes on in my haste, but that wasn't a big deal until we were wiping and I noticed she was standing on the dirty (sooooo dirty) bathroom floor in her bare feet. Still not a big deal until twenty minutes later, when I noticed in the car that she was storing carrots between her toes as she ate them.
3. Ferry playgrounds. So, the great thing about toilet-training girls is that you can put them in skirts and dresses, which, combined with our bare undercarriage policy, makes for extremely fast transitions. Except that she can just hike up her skirt in anticipation. Or to show strangers what a big girl she is, being out of diapers. Or just for a cool breeze. The identifiably religious family sitting next to me did not appreciate it. The other problem is that slides are difficult due to the incredibly frictionable surface area between her ankles and hips, slowing her down and burning the skin off her sensitive areas. But she just didn't care. Clever little girl that she is though, she figured out that if she shifted her centre of gravity to her back by putting her legs straight up in the air and leaning backwards, she'd fly down that slide. Much to the horror of the aforementioned parents sitting next to me. Who were thinking 'incompetent parent, naughty child' (see earlier paragraph).
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| "Incoming! Brace yourself for the squeal of labia on slide!" |
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| It look like she's moving fast, but she's really not... |
Another challenge has been trying to convince her that it's better to go to the washroom indoors than out. She feels that if the backyard is good enough for Maggie, it should be good enough for her. To be honest, I could really care less, but I feel it could get out of control if I don't try to manage it somewhat. At first she limited it to our backyard. And deck. Sometimes I'd find her on the deck, just standing there, looking pensive and relaxed. In a puddle, in her pajamas.
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| "I fertilized your plants. You're welcome." |
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| "What do you mean that was inappropriate? Party or not, it is a backyard." |
Anyways, I was under the impression that as they got older, they got easier. So far, using the toilet means that I have to drop whatever I'm doing- eating, talking on the phone, driving, peeing- to get her set-up. I had more leeway when she was an infant. This involves more laundry, more foresight and organization, and me being mortified numerous times a day. I suppose that during this transition, I'll have to take the victories where I can get them. Like when I didn't accidentally drop her down the outhouse while we were camping. I was pretty anxious about it, good on me for that.
