Growing pains

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So, we've decided to press pause on the potty training.

Let me explain.

Victor has been progressing into big-boy-hood at a steady clip - ditching the bottle, growing into bigger clothes, a big boy bed, even peeing in the potty on a semi-regular basis. So, we decided to try potty training  this weekend. Things started off well enough (with the exception of poop - but that's a given). Suddenly, once Victor realized that this potty training-thing involved EXPECTATIONS of him, he decided it was for the birds.

I could almost see the tiny thought bubbles forming over his adorable little red-head. "You mean I have to do this thing ALL THE TIME? It's not just for fun? AND you expect me to poop in there? F-this...I'm going back to the Pampers. This big boy stuff is a crock..."

I hear you Victor.

Come to think of it, I went through the same set of mini-tantrums when I realized that being a mom wasn't all fun and games. Sure, it was great to get a guaranteed seat (most days...) on the subway, to have people pick up heavy objects and open doors. Even those early days in the hospital were semi-blissful (the post-pre-eclampsia part). Nurses would take the baby back to the nursery when you wanted to sleep. Someone gave the baby their first bath - removing that crazy birth-gunk and bringing them back to you clean, swaddled and ready to eat.

Then you get home and all hell breaks loose.

Sure, there's lots of family and friends around the first few weeks. But they all seem to go deaf and blind when the baby's crying at 3am and you can barely get out of bed, what with the post-c-section-Percocet-and-sleep-deprivation-induced haze.

As soon as you get used to the pace of the infant days, it seems like they're a toddler before you know it. Soon, they're mobile and vocal and you find yourself answering to a chorus of "Mommy" and "Ba-ba" and "Why" about seven billion times each day.

Not that you mind. You signed up for this gig, right? And they're cute, smell nice (most of the time) and it's REALLY funny to make them say crazy stuff.

But there are all those damned EXPECTATIONS. You're supposed to have the right answers. You're supposed to be patient and kind and understanding and nurturing when sometimes all you really want to do is tell everyone in the house to shut the hell up already.

Expectations take all the fun out of growing up.

So, we're pressing the pause button on the whole potty training thing. Come to think of it, I don't think we really started with Angel until he was about 3 anyway.

We could all use a break...
Denette said...

Good call!

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