Most mums would be jumping for joy at the end of diapers. Not this one. I would be happy to see Miss S wear a diaper until she’s 10 – or at least the age where she trains herself… eight? six?
The truth be told, the thought of potty training again makes me very, very tired. It’s not one thing that makes me tired, it’s everything: the constant drone, Do you have to pee?; the occasional floor mop – or five floor mops in succession; and the scramble when out and about to find a toilet without an automatic flush – or at the very least the long list of false promises that the high-jet automatic flush toilet won’t go off when a tiny body sways in front of it – even if Mum has one hand covering the sensor,while the other holds the little. (For more on automatic flush toilet woes that I whole heartedly agree with, read my cousin’s blog here.)
The biggest problem is Miss S has been ready to say farewell to diapers for a good six months now, but there just hasn’t been a good time for me. Yes, I said: for me.
First it was the birth of Miss C; then it was Christmas; then everyone got sick; and now? Well, I suppose I could consider not handing over $40.00 on size 6 diapers to Pampers a birthday week present, as I did have my eyes on a quiet shopping trip to my favourite bookstore; but the summer is so much easier to toilet train in – they can pee like dogs in the grass, run naked…
Oh I know, I should just bite the bullet; declare the filling of the landfill over; ready the floor cleaner. We do only have 10 diapers left.
And yesterday, as we were getting ready for a walk, Miss S saw the pony underwear we’d bought two years ago for Miss Q, the ones I’d lazily stuffed in her (Miss S’s) drawer for safe keeping. ”I want to wear ponies.” She dropped her socks, and grabbed the underwear.
“Okay,” I said, thinking she’d just pull them on over her pants like Superman.
But my husband saw the method to her madness. ”She wants to wear that instead of her diaper.”
“No she doesn’t.” I shot him a look to keep his trap from influencing Miss S’s fashion sense. ”Do you?” I asked Miss S.
“I want my diaper off,” she said, tugging at the plastic.
We stood on the cusp. If I said no, would that crush her feelings of being a big girl? ”Okay.”
“Really?” asked my husband.
Here’s the other problem with toilet training in today’s world: everything the littles sit on is either dry clean only (read here), or it’s almost impossible to wash without a major pull-apart.
On Saturday I was taking the Chariot as it fits Miss C and Miss S comfortably and has lots of room in the back for storage. The problem with it is the seat doesn’t come out, and you can’t chuck any of it in the wash – something we do with everything dry clean only or not. So armed with garbage bags and a heavy towel, I lined the seat and triple potty checked Miss S before leaving.
Even though we were only out for an hour and a half, I felt like I was pushing a ticking time bomb. Sure the worse thing that could happen would be diving into the extra change of clothes I’d packed. But still, as I pushed, I plotted all the public bathrooms on our route.
Despite of or in spite of my fear and stress, Miss S stayed dry. She knew exactly what she was doing, and was pretty proud of herself. I was pretty proud of her too. Declaring an end to diapers is a big deal in a little girl’s life, and despite my belly-aching, I am happy she’s almost there.
Tomorrow I will celebrate Miss S’s independence by resurrecting the minivan’s pee bucket, and buying stock in laundry soap. Tonight I will reflect upon the good ol’ days when all I had to do was slap a clean diaper on her before leaving the house.