Dear Little Man,
For the past 32 months now, I've written you a letter once a month. But a momentous moment has happened this weekend, one that I think requires its own letter. This weekend, you officially joined the ranks of us underwear-wearing folks.
This is a moment, that I have to admit, I didn't think would ever come, because you might as well learn this right now, I tend to obsess over every little last thing and think that if I can't control it, it's never going to happen.
But the fact that we have another baby on the way motivated me to get going with this, because Huggies gets enough of our money right now and the idea of two in diapers led me to picture the new yacht the Huggies CEO would probably be buying with my money.
Friday night, I took you to Target and I made you pick out underwear and from the way I was going on and on about it in a high-pitched squeal, I'm certain the people in the next aisle thought that this was the most important purchase of both of our lives.
Then I dragged you to the Jelly Belly aisle and I let you pick jelly beans in any color you wanted and I let you eat one. You got excited and asked me for more candy, but I told you that the only way to get to enjoy more tasty jelly beans would be to go pee pee in the potty.
I don't think you really believed me, as the rest of the night, our conversation went something like this:
"Little Man, it's time for dinner, please sit in your chair.
- Can I have candy now?
- Let's go play outside.
- Can I have candy now?
- Do you want to blow bubbles?
- Can I have candy now?"
And I swear to you, I came this close to shoving the entire bag of jelly bellies in your mouth, because dear God, there's only so much water torture one pregnant woman can take, you know?
But I somehow stopped the urge, and the second we got home, I stuck you in a pair of Mickey Mouse underwear and constantly asked you if you needed to go potty.
After dinner, we went to play outside, and about half an hour after we got out there, you suddenly got this look of horror, and ran towards me with your legs glued to each other, as you screamed my name.
I removed your wet underwear and told you that next time you felt the urge to pee pee, you needed to use the potty. You then asked me if you could have candy. Can we say one track mind?
Just when I'd given up all hope, it was time for bed and I figured we'd try again the next morning. I poured you your bath while you were putting your frog in bed. And this is where details get a little fuzzy, because I couldn't see you from the bathroom. We figure that you were so excited to take your bath, you ran right into your dresser. This is our best guess, since you Daddy, who was downstairs just heard a thud thud and I, over the running water, only realized something was wrong when I heard you blood curdling wails.
I scooped you up and held you as you cried, and when I saw the big bump on your head, I took you downstairs to put ice on your head. We sat there quietly for a long time, me holding that ice on your head, you trying to stop your brain from filling with blood.
Suddenly, you said quietly "I need to go potty."
I looked across the room at your father, confused, and finally said ok, and put you back on the toilet.
And that's when it happened. You peed all over the seat.
You and I both got wide-eyed at the same time, like we both had the same simultaneous thought of "holy crap! We're really doing this!"
I shrieked and laughed and probably cried a little. I hugged you and we wiped and we flushed and as I was kissing you, you just said, with great relief "I can have my candy now!"
Because really, that's all that mattered. That you'd get to eat one more four-calorie jelly belly.
And that was it. For the rest of the weekend, you were in underwear. You didn't have one accident the entire time.
Because your dad and I are crazy like that, we even took you out to an outdoor concert on Sunday. Where there were port-o-potties. And I forgot your change of clothes on the coffee table, giving us zero safety net.
About two hours after getting to the concert, you said "I have to go potty." And that's where you and I entertained all of the port-o-potties around, as you would scream "Mama, I'm falling in!" and you would hold on to the seat and then the next second, you would grab my very germophobic self as I would scream "GAAAAAH! Don't touch me!"
It took three tries, but finally, on that third attempt, you did what few people in this world can do. You peed in a port-o-potty.
Which by the way, I can't help but laugh at your choice of pooping reading materials. You somehow decided this weekend that the best book for bathroom reading is a bible song book that you were given by one of your Nonnie's Southern Baptist friends. And so you and I sit there, in that small bathroom, singing "Kumbaya, my Lord" and "Jesus Loves Me," while we wait for you to make a deposit. I can't help but find this extremely amusing, especially when your grandparents would probably think it's inappropriate to sing God songs while grunting.
This morning, I sent you to school in your Elmo underwear and you couldn't wait to tell your teacher that you were wearing big boy underwear.
And I, who wanted this milestone so badly. I, who couldn't stand wiping smeared poop from your behind any longer. Well, my heart broke a little. Because somehow, seeing you in that underwear seems to officially close the book on your baby years.
My baby is gone, and in its place stands a big boy, one who has already learned that checking out the poop you've deposited in the toilet is about the coolest thing ever.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Dear Little Man,
A rant by Catwoman at 5/27/2008 08:34:00 AM