Friday, November 9, 2007

Somebody's watching me

So we've progressed in the potty-training department, and rather quickly, which is certainly something I'm going to give thanks about at the turkey table. We've got a week of poop in the potty. Wow! I never thought I'd be so happy about something like that! And it's so much better than poop in the underpants, poop on the floor, poop on the floor at a friend's house. Really, it should be called "house-training," because it's not much different than training the dogs. And they didn't take anywhere near this long to get it. Maybe I should try rewarding Carter with Milk Bones and leave him outside for most of the day...

The little guy's newest fascination, much to my chagrin, is watching other people poop in the potty. It started in public restrooms, and although we've all had a toddler stick his head under the door while we're in the stall, it's different when it's your kid. "No! We don't watch other people potty! Get your head back in here! Stop touching the floor; it's icky! Oh, God, don't put your hands in your mouth!" You get the drift.

This morning, we moved on to watching me go poop in the potty. I can honestly say that I haven't had viewers in my WC since I was about Carter's age (unless you include the dogs, who always seem to poke their head in the room. I must get better at locking the door...). But this was the first time I had a cheering section. I was even offered a lollipop reward for doing such a good job. I drew the line at standing up and letting him see just what came out. While I was planted on the porcelain throne with my own little fan section, I thought, Is this going to help him train faster? And if it's not, I'm locking him in his room next time. I mean, my dogs don't even like it when I watch them do it outside. It's kind of a universal thing for those of us in the mammal class: Don't watch me when I poop. Although there seems to be some sort of exception in the hoofed animal department, at least at the fair anyway.

And I'd never normally tell anyone anything about this, because it's a very personal moment and I'm very modest person, except for the fact that I have a blog and for some reason that means it's okay to write about going to the bathroom. But I guess what it all comes down to is that it's yet another way that I've become a mom. My life is lived in the open, as long as it's for the good of my child. There is no such thing as privacy when you have a three-year-old. I'm not quite used to the fact that anybody going potty in this house is a drop-everything, breaking-news moment. Give me a few years, and I'm sure I'll be forgetting to close the door when I'm in there.

My peers all seem to be parents, and this has led to a rather unnerving shift in cocktail party conversation. (As if I ever have the time to make a cocktail party. Now they're called "Down a Glass of Wine in the Kitchen while the Kids Trash the Living Room" parties.) But the funny thing I've noticed is that everyone I run into is going through this. We are all struggling with this change to our identities. We have all just recently arrived at the destination of parenthood, and we still seemed to be jet-lagged from the journey. But somehow the knowledge that we are not alone in this struggle is what makes everyday a little bit easier. We have entered the fraternity of having children, and the hazing is just beginning.

And that, my friends, is why I'm writing about poop. Just don't tell anybody my writing is crap.

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