Wow. I did not mean to get everyone all riled up. I just thought I was posting a little anecdote about my sister and Dat Nguyen.
It’s all okay. Someday we will all meet in heaven and the Aggies and the Longhorns can join hands, sing a few rounds of Friends are Friends Forever and have a group hug as we gather around Mac Brown with Vince Young seated at his right hand.
Oh, I’m joking.
Moving on to another subject.
Caroline still wears a diaper to bed at night. I’m pretty sure this is a normal practice for any three year old that doesn’t sleep on rubber sheets in a plastic bubble. Of course, I’ve also wondered at what point she can stop wearing a diaper at night. I’ve heard experts say it’s when she wakes up consistently dry in the morning, but I’m afraid that since she has inherited my urinary genetics, waiting for a succession of dry mornings would mean her future college roommate will wonder what in the world is up with all the Pampers in their dorm room.
The thought of telling her she can get up and use the bathroom if she needs to during the night is terrifying. I have visions of waking up at 2 a.m. to a living room covered in mini-marshmallows and Trix Cereal, while Dora the Explorer blares loudly from the television.
Giving her that kind of control is, in my opinion, the equivalent of saying, “Honey, Mama doesn’t need her sanity. You just go ahead and wake me up every hour on the hour to let me know that you just went tee-tee and when you get tired of that, just turn on Diego and watch him rescue spectacled bears all night long.”
What I’m trying to say is, I can’t help but feel it’s a bad idea.
Anyway, I’m unsure of this next phase of potty training and in truth, the entire potty training experience has bewildered me. I once believed that potty training was a sprint. You start off, gain some speed and momentum, and cross the finish line minus a few Clorox wipes used to wipe up messes along the way.
In truth, potty training is more like a marathon. It’s neverending, it’s exhausting and instead of cheering spectators helping you get to the finish line, you’re being heckled by a three year old who you swear purposely makes her tee-tee come out in a jet stream so fierce that it manages to douse you as you squat while holding her on the potty in a public restroom. So, in truth, it may be harder than a marathon, because at least in a real marathon, you just get doused with Gatorade.
A year later, I am still trying to figure out how we can make it a whole week without throwing away a few pairs of underwear, because isn’t life all about setting goals?
The other night, as Caroline was brushing her teeth before bed, I asked if she needed to potty one last time before I put her diaper on. She insisted that no she didn’t and she didn’t even need to try. Because I am a fool, I took her word for it, and put her diaper on.
As we were reading stories, I felt her wet her diaper.
“Caroline, did you just wet your diaper?”
“Sure, I did.”
“Why? Why would you do that when you just told me that you didn’t need to go?”
Blank stare.
I changed her diaper, while mumbling a bunch of stuff about how from now on she is going to have to try to go whether she says she needs to or not, and how diapers don’t grow on trees and wasting them is just contributing to global warming, and the disintegration of the ozone, and my checkbook.
She looked at me in the midst of my tirade and said, “Mama, you’re not being very nice. You’re fired.”
Great. Thank you Donald Trump.
I told P later that Caroline better rethink that decision. Nobody but her Mama is going to do this job for the current payscale and benefits, not to mention the excessive amount of laundry required as we finish what is, hopefully, the last leg of our potty training marathon.