Potty Talk

by

“Mom,” Sun sings as she steps out of the bathroom, clean and damp.  Her mother lay in her darkened room too tired to respond.  “Mom!” Sun happily runs through the rooms, seeking.  Still, her mother stays quiet.  “Mommy,” Sun insists as she leaves the front rooms, diligent in her search.  “Mommy. . . ” Methodically, Sun reaches her mother’s room.  Her mother smiles and opens her arms; Sun enters the embrace, never doubting her mother was steps away all along.

*     *     *

Potty training makes no sense.  How does a child learn how to listen to her body as to WHEN she needs to potty based on being placed on the potty every, say, 10 minutes?  Just because she in fact does sit on the potty when the moment strikes and she thus does pee in the potty, how does that translate itself in her head that the moments leading up to that are what she has to learn to feel next time?

For Sun, it’s not much different than other children.  She makes progress, then regresses.  But it’s two steps forward and one back.  She should be fully out of diapers soon.

I hope this is the best story I’ll have to relay to her when she’s older:

Sun was practicing with no diaper–just a skirt.  She came out of her playroom and explained that she “had spilled.”  We cleaned her up and replaced her skirt, socks and shoes.  She returned to her playroom.  “Poopies. Gross!” She exclaimed.  “What?” I asked, having checked where she had stood after her “spill.”  “The cat pooped!” she explained.  And there it was–three feet from where I thought she’d spilled.  A poopie. But clearly not from the cat.

Three years old and blaming smelly accidents on the innocent, old cat without as much as batting an eyelash.

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