Lessons from the Potty

A few months ago I wrote an article for Cradle Magazine's summer issue about potty training your child. Writing it was enjoyable and productive because the research I gathered was very useful to me. When I turned in the "Choose Your Own Adventure: A Diaper-free World" article, I thought I was ready to step into the ring for round two (first round was Stan); after all Oliver was then about 24 months. He must be ready. I was wrong. One of the things I keep on forgetting is that, when parents set out to potty train their child, they are the ones who end up potty trained. Not their child. We know when they need to go, but they don't. We impose, we cajole, we declare- "potty time!" Sans victoire. I tried to do all the 5 different adventures of potty training with Oliver but he never chose "to-go". He had given in to one successful trip but he preferred the accidents better. Cleaning up wasn't my favorite part. So I gave up. I thought, well, one day he will surely stop wetting his pants. At that point I was dearly hoping it wouldn't be when he's 10 or something. Lo and behold, last Saturday, he took off his diaper and said "mom, pee!". I rushed to grab a rag - in automatic mode - to wipe up the accident, but alas, there was no pool of pee to be found. Oliver ran to the bathroom, aimed at his potty, and then I heard the most beautiful trickling sound I'd been waiting for all these months. Oliver peed in the potty on his own. It happened! I was so dumbfounded that I didn't know what to do, should I congratulate him? Hug him perhaps? I held back tears in disbelief. When I finally got myself together I patted him on the shoulder and said, "Oliver you are such a big boy now", he looked at me straight in the eye and replied, "yeah!". And I nodded in agreement, bewildered how he could be so nonchalant about such a great milestone. It suddenly made me self-conscious, what if he thought I was so silly to do such an otiose undertaking as attempting to empty his very own bladder? It seems to me now that he had a perfect plan when to do it on his own, all along. That is, at 27 months. And perhaps one of these days he will decide to regress. I can already see how my blood will boil and ire will rise. But I shall try to hold my ground. Because what I ought to know is, when it comes to potty business, timing is golden.