Category: Life in General

It challenges my mothering abilities.

It weakens my motherhood confidence.

It shakes all the ideals that I stand for.

It questions my very being.

It fills me with self doubt.

 

It’s toilet training.

 

“Ok, today’s the day! You’re going to be toilet trained!” I enthusiastically told my three year old.

“No, not today,” he casually answered. “When I’m six, I’ll get toilet trained. I’m not ready yet.”

Now, in my book, a kid that can answer with such eloquence is a kid who should be long toilet trained.

But apparently, this little boy doesn’t go by my book.

I’ve got all the charts in place and the bribes lined up. I’m ready to go; problem is, he isn’t.

And that brings me back to square one.

 

What if I don’t succeed at this?

Will my kid figure it out?

Or will my kid be the first one to go to high school in a pamper?

No, it can’t happen. It won’t happen.

I know it won’t happen.

But still, I worry. Still, I doubt myself.

And then I meet my dear friend who nonchalantly laughs at the ease of training her 18 month old. I laugh along, half heartedly. And then she tells me about her mother’s neighbor’s nieces friends who trained their 18 month old.

I refuse to believe her. Not when I’m trying to train my 40 month old.

So no, in my mind her 18 month old is not toilet trained. And neither is her mother’s neighbor’s whatever.  And I don’t believe it’s possible either.

But will I fail the motherhood test? Will I get a big F on my motherhood report because my 3 ½ year old is still in a pamper?

Will I get marked for effort, at least?

I think I should get A+ for effort.

The truth is, maybe I should put in more effort.

But I don’t have time for more effort. There’s still the rest of the kids who need some attention too. And I can’t cook meals while hanging out in the bathroom.

But I am trying.

Maybe not hard enough.

Maybe if I tried harder he’d be toilet trained at 18 months.

No, that’s not possible anyway.

Unless you become a slave to the bathroom, and basically move in.

But maybe it is possible.

Maybe I should force him.

Maybe I should have let him cry for hours last week, when we had failed attempt #5.

Maybe I shouldn’t have compromised.

But I don’t believe in forcing.

So maybe I do get an F for effort, too.

But that’s not fair!

I got all my kids dressed today. I made fresh supper. I let the kids use their water paints today.

Toilet training isn’t the most important thing anyway.

But maybe it is. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.

Maybe my kid will be the first to go to elementary school in pampers.

It’ll be his fault, not mine.

No, it will be mine.

I should have done it at 18 months.

It’s not possible anyway.

I look at my four big kids. All successfully toilet trained. It boosts my confidence, and jolts me back to reality.

Right, I do know how to do this!

So what am I so worried about? Do I really think I can’t do it?

Or is it something else?

Maybe I’m just sick of getting unsolicited toilet training advice.

Yes, that’s it.

That is it! Enough theory sharing when I didn’t ask. Enough tsk-tsk looks when moms notice he’s not potty trained. Enough tips and tricks that don’t work for everyone. Enough comparing. Enough analyzing. Enough unhelpful support.

I am cut out for this. I will not get an F.

And when he’s ready, it’ll work.

I’ve done it before. I am capable. I can do it. I will do it. At the right time.

And he’s happy. That’s really what’s most important of all.

And he’s an eloquent talker.

 

It’s the end of a long day and I decide to come out of my mommy bubble of diapers, laundry and wiping spills to check what’s going on in the rest of the world. You know, just to make sure all is where I left it last.

I log onto Facebook to get a quick glimpse of life around town; in just a few minutes I’ll be brought up to date. I’ll know what friends and strangers made for dinner, see pictures of all the cool places that everyone else visits, and know which stores are having the greatest deals.

It’s time to unwind and check up on the outside world.

And suddenly I feel things starting to slowly go downhill.

What moments before had been a great, fun day with me being an involved, active mommy is shattering to pieces.

10 foods that are destroying you! the first headline blares.

Gulp, what was this!?  The picture looks like it was taken in my refrigerator.

Could it be I’m hoarding destructive food in my own house? What am I doing to my family?

I continue scrolling.

Do you know what you’re feeding your kids? Stay away from big supermarkets!

Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s are being sued for mislabeling products. Even their food isn’t good for you. Buy from your local farmers. It’s the only way.

Help! What am I feeding my kids? I push it out of my mind and keep scrolling down.

Don’t let your baby cry it out! You won’t believe what it can do to your child! 

Should I click to read more? No, the headlines says enough.

I’m a believer of crying it out; it works and sure makes for a good sleep plan. As a matter of fact, all my good sleeper kids were sleep trained. But still, my mommy conscience starts the guilt thing. Uh oh, what have I done to them?

Against my better judgement, I keep scrolling.

Vaccinations! The reports are out!

By this time I have a pit in my stomach; I don’t even want to hear if the reports are good or bad. I vaccinate. Period. But there’s 18,000 likes and 4,567 comments…should I read it?

What if I’m the only mom left out of the loop on this new vaccination development? And once again, against my better judgement, I scan the article. It’s an anti vaccinations one. Thankfully, it’s nothing new.

So I keep scrolling. The pit in my stomach is growing; now it’s a double knot.

Do you realize what you are putting inside you?

I watch a quick video of coke in a pot being boiled until the water is burnt out; a big glob of black-sugar-blob remains.

Phew, I kicked my coke habit a few years ago, I’m good on this one.

But at tonight’s barbecue I kind of let the kids choose a can…I think they all chose coke…I’m in trouble! I can practically hear the sugar blobs gurgling as the kids sleep…

Know where your vegetables come from! You won’t believe what happens to them in transport!

I think of my bananas sitting on the counter…and I’m pretty sure the little sticker on it that my kids love to collect says Ecuador. How did they ship them here?? I bet it wasn’t in first class…am I feeding my kids the terrible stuff it says here? Here I was feeling so proud that the baby eats a banana every day for breakfast…

Recall! Kirkland Black Pepper! Traces of Salmonella!

I use that in practically every dish!! If we are feeling fine until now, does that mean the one I have is safe?? 

But suddenly I’m nauseous and I have a headache.

Germs. Do you know what germs are lurking on your door knobs? Your cell phone has more germs than…

I’m done. I stop reading.

Now I’m a wreck; what an awful mom I am after all! Destroying my family! Feeding them toxins!

What will be? Should we move to a farm and grow our own stuff? Can we live off the crop we get from our garden?

I glance at the next few headlines; water safety, secondary drowning, heat advisory, kids left in cars by mistake. This stuff can make any mom fall apart!

I turn off the screen and shove my phone across the couch. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.

Only ten minutes ago I was a great mom. Now I am doing it all wrong. And my worry list had just quadrupled.

Maybe all these mommy groups and instant news updates aren’t such a good thing after all.

Are they making me a confident mom or a paranoid mom?

Are they making me more diligent in taking care of my kids, or turning me into the world’s worst helicopter mom?

Are they making me happier or more neurotic?

A calmer mom or a nervous wreck mom?

No, this certainly isn’t making me be a better mother. If I keep on reading, I know just the type of mom I’ll become- the overbearing type that really ruins their kids.

I’m ready to go back to the old  way.

Away with the mommy groups. Back to using common sense, advice from good friends, wisdom from my mother’s experience and an occasional visit to Google.

It was finally coming true. My mind was racing, my imagination going wild.

No more cooking suppers. No more peeling, cutting and prepping food. My son was going to take over the kitchen.

He’s a natural. He’s one of those.

I would be one of those bragging moms who nonchalantly wave their hands and laugh, “Oh, I stopped cooking ages ago. My son does it. He’s a natural.”

And they casually pause for the response they know is coming, “Really, your son?! Wow, how amazing! How’d you train him??”

And the ambiguous answer of, “You gotta train them when their young…” Smiling smugly. Implying that everyone else’s children weren’t trained.

Well, that bragging mom was going to be me!

“It says butter. Can I use peanut butter instead?”

That certainly interrupted my train of thought.

And reminded me that I was jumping ahead a bit too far; after all, he’s nine.

He had been browsing through a cookbook and had come across a potato chip recipe and wanted to try it. Contrary to my initial inward reaction, I enthusiastically agreed.

And we didn’t have butter, hence the question.

And so he learned his first kitchen tip; peanut butter does not replace butter. But you can use oil instead.

I guess he might not be taking over the kitchen as soon as I was imagining after all.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t brag about his cooking, I thought stubbornly.“My son, he’s just a natural in the kitchen!”

Well, kind of, anyways. I mean, he cooked once…

But you know us moms, we love to exaggerate 🙂