We've Come Full Circle

To those of you out there who are not parents, this won't be in the least interesting to you. In fact, it will probably seem pretty pathetic. And in the grand scheme of Life, it is pathetic. But hey, when you're a parent, your standards of entertainment drop waaaaaaay low. So I know some of you will be doing the Dance of Joy right along with me. (extra credit points for those of you who know what I'm talking about with the Dance of Joy ..... anyone?)

What exactly am I talking about? Poop. Yep, that's right. Poop. Poo. Crap. Code brown. Turds. Floaters. Logs. Or, in the eternal words of my prim and proper grandmother, 'BMs'. When you have a newborn, you're obsessed with them. How many today? What color were they? How many loads of laundry did they cause? What socially unacceptable situation did they create for you this time? The list goes on and on.

As the kid gets older, poops stop taking centre stage so much. They become part of your daily routine. You can pretty much change them blindfolded (although I wouldn't recommend it). You're lulled into thinking, 'FINALLY I can get back to a life not dominated by my kid's backside!'

And then potty training starts, and you're back to the proverbial Square One, sucked back in that vortex of bodily waste obsession. How many times did Junior use the toilet today? Did he have any accidents? Did he use it himself, or did you have to prompt him? and the forty-seven billion dollar jackpot question Did he POOP in there?

Of course, OUR Junior, the one who's so freakishly big we couldn't ever use those plastic potty chairs because he couldn't squeeze his teenage-sized body into them, the one who actually once THANKED me for spanking him (don't call the police on me, I'm hardly a child abuser), the one who's takes the term 'stubborn' to a level nobody has ever seen before, this kid has been using the toilet every day for over two years now ..... and still flat-out refuses to do his messy business in there. Every night when we put the overnight diaper on (as he's never once woken up dry), he'd crawl out of bed the minute we closed the door, do his stuff, and before we even made it to the sofa for a movie, would open the door and proudly announce 'It's time to change my diaper!'

That is, until Mama had enough last night. I didn't care what the books say. I didn't care if he felt ready. I didn't care if I was causing him permanent psychological damage (which would really only be a fair deal if I did, seeing what he's doing to me here). Mama. Was. Done. I told him, plain and simple, diapers are gone. There is no need. If you have the control to wait all day until the diaper is on, you have the control to make it to the toilet. I love you. Good night. God help us all.

Junior didn't fall asleep for over two hours.

I could see him on the video monitor, lying in bed peacefully, sucking his thumb and cuddling his duvet...but I swear I could also see the bubble caption above his head saying 'Damn! That was my last Trump card! What do I stick them with now?!' (he's far too freaked out about getting the teensiest drop of rain on him, let alone allowing himself to purposefully make a terrible mess)

I'm happy to announce he made it all the way through the night (I got him up twice to go, just in case, so I don't really know if he would have made it himself anyway) AND we had a successful Mr Hanky in the toiler just before lunch. AHA! Score one for Mama!

So this is what my world has come back to .... packing spare clothes for every public outing and in-depth discussions on bodily functions. I know childbirth ripped every last shred of dignity I ever had out of me, but I thought one day it might come back.

Apparently, this is not going to happen while there's a preschooler in the house.