I’ve had a run of bad luck with Annie and birthday parties recently. First, a few weeks back, she tagged along for a party for one of Danny’s classmates. It was a Friday afternoon after a long work week and I was in that sleep-deprived state where driving a vehicle at 3 p.m. is a bit of a risk and a cocktail is out of the question. But we soldiered on, me and all three kids, because no one wanted to miss out on the fun.
Turns out that Mommy’s fun that party involved taking paper towels and cleaning supplies inside the bouncy house that Annie had managed to pee in. It was quite a sight, me in a short jean skirt, my butt sticking out, while Jay screamed in a stranger’s arms. Oh, and fun science fact for you: the pressure in a bouncy house makes pee bubble. Which also makes pee spread. You get the picture.
Annie was not concerned in the least, except when I said—OK, not so discretely screamed through gritted teeth— that we had to leave the party. After a few minutes of hysterics, I gave in, took off her dress, stuck on some sweats I luckily had in my bag, and let her run around in a cardigan that was basically open to her navel. Not that Annie cared in the least.
Flash forward to the next birthday party. Annie was doing well, making plenty of potty trips. So I was standing, relaxed, holding Jay and chatting with a mother that I know from Danny’s old whiffle ball team while I watched Annie go up and down the slide. And then Annie stopped out of the blue, lifted her dress and said, “Mommy, poopy.” And oh yes there was. All over her and the slide. I told the other woman she must have gotten muddy and bolted to find Dan so we could collaborate on how to hide the scene of the crime.
The worst part of this wasn’t even the clean-up. The worst part was that about an hour later I found myself talking to this same woman. Remembering that she had twins that shared Annie’s St. Patrick’s birthday, I asked how their potty training was going. When she said she hadn’t started yet, I felt a huge wave of relief. And so of course I spilled on Annie’s regression issues. Driving home, I was psyched to tell Dan that we were not alone. And then I remembered. Her twins are a year younger than Annie.
Now, I know kids often have potty issues and regressions but yet no one I talk to ever seems to have experienced anything like this. So I was kind of excited when I noticed that a girl in Annie’s swim class who is almost a full year older than Annie had a swim diaper on. I asked her mom if she was having issues and she said she just hadn’t trained her yet. So, given that waiting until 4 seemed way freakier than pooping on a slide, I again spilled my guts. To which the woman asked me if there were problems at home. Or maybe I wasn’t spending enough time with Annie because “you have so many children”.
Ouch.
Even though we don’t have issues, I started worrying. I also started thinking maybe Annie just doesn’t get enough of my time. After spending half the night dreaming up scenarios where poor, lonely Annie grows up to be a juvenile delinquent, smoking three to five cigarettes at once as she leaps from her bedroom window onto a Harley Davidson where a 30 year old she calls ‘babe” waits. Or Annie coming home from college with a letter that her therapist told her to write to me, telling me all the ways I had failed her in the critical potty training years.
Let’s face it, we have been made to feel like potty training has some almost mystical power in shaping the person your child will become. Don’t push them or they might be psychologically damaged later on. Don’t ever scold them when they poop on the floor for no good reason because they may have such scars from this experience that they will never have children of their own. And, whatever you do, never make a fuss when you are cleaning pee up because if you do someday your son may be unable to hold down a steady job.
I think it’s time we reclaim the right to get mad when our kid pees in a bouncy house. I would do anything for my kids, don’t get me wrong. And I think they are perfect to a degree that no one else will ever feel because they are my flesh and blood, they are my wishes come to life, they are my everything. Annie is my sweet little princess, all ribbons and lace and fairy necklaces mixed in with dirty fingernails, skinned knees and rock collections. Still, even though I have a tendency to cut her some extra slack given her position as my middle child, my only girl, I do get aggravated when she pees all over the place. But, really, is that so weird? Why is it so wrong for me to get frustrated when I know she has peed herself simply because she didn’t want to waste her time going to the bathroom?
Personally, my guess is that Annie won’t ever remember being potty trained. And, if she did some day, she will wonder why I didn’t give her a harder time about it. Let’s face it, no 16 year old girl wants to hear that she once defiled a slide.
But I will say this, maybe ignorance is bliss. All of my web research on regression told me that I should not say a thing when Annie had an accident, just clean it up and move on. And Annie does seem to be having less accidents since I have started this tactic.
But then again this could just as likely be because she just doesn’t care.
Oh, and in case you are wondering about that lady from swimming: the following week Annie got out of the water mid-class because she had to pee. After I had gotten her back in, that same mom smiled at me. And I just couldn’t help it. I volunteered that Annie had a little urinary tract infection that had caused her to temporarily regress but now she was back to normal.
Was this true? No.
And I just don't care.
What's wrong with "smoking three to five cigarettes at once?" :) hee hee. Love Annie, love you! I think Lily is just starting to finally get potty training. She'll be 4 in September. Everyone is different. :) xo
Posted by: Suzy | 05/21/2010 at 01:09 AM