Previously, my monthly newsletter had a section called "Your Monthly Baby" where I showcased a picture of my growing son. Now that he is not a baby, I write something about parenting instead, which I am posting retroactively here now. Subscribe to receive next month's essay along with book and music recommendations.
I potty trained my son last weekend, and while I get that that probably means very little to a lot of you, I feel a much more urgent desire for celebration about this than I do about my book release, so here we are. If you have potty training on the docket, I personally like to have a framework or mantra—some kind of thing to hold in my head when I do difficult things (in creativity, this is "make good art," for example)—so I used the Big Little Feelings potty training course to help prepare myself, which is basically like the "oh crap" method as far as I have understood it. (Yes, you can study for potty training. There is literature. There are courses. You think I don't know dark academia?) I found it very useful, although I did have to alter some aspects of my approach.
Here are some facts about my son. He's most comfortable at home and can be very shy with others. He collects rocks he thinks are "so cool," he loves sea creatures and will only wear pajamas with desserts on them, his favorite era is folklore, and he likes to play guitar. He's very naturally sweet-tempered, and my approval or disapproval of his behavior seems to mean a lot to him. Sure, he has his tantrums—he is, after all, a wee three years old—but he mostly just needs the space to calm himself down without me getting in his way or rushing him through his emotions. He likes privacy. He likes agency. The best way to get him to obey is to give him the space to decide for himself what the right decision should be. He needs me to push him, sometimes, because he can get easily overwhelmed or anxious, but he needs me to trust him other times, because he doesn't always like to do something without practicing first by himself. He is almost heart-crushingly positive—his favorite thing to tell me these days is "I like your dress, Mommy" (he means my pajamas, usually) or "Mommy, how was school?"—and most days, even when everything is awful, my son has something surprising and lovely to say about something else being beautiful or wonderful or, again, sooooo cool.
All of this to say that I had to troubleshoot my approach to potty training beyond the instructions given to me, which was really stressful at times. I did a few things that weren't easy for either of us (the whole process of getting him to pee after he'd been holding it all morning was a lot like coaching him through labor, complete with screaming, and tears, and trying desperately to explain to him how much he would HATE having a UTI). But the joy I felt when I realized how quickly he could learn, and how proud of himself he could be, genuinely surpassed anything I've ever felt about... honestly, most things.
Motherhood gets a lot of shit and it's true, it's hard. Especially in the US where there's no meaningful effort to provide childcare or familial support to parents of young children, and under conditions of severe capitalism, womanhood in particular means working harder at the office and at home than your counterparts. A lot about motherhood feels shitty and unwinnable, and the experience can really be brutal, to the point where I understand why motherhood doesn't factor into a lot of people's plans. Which is entirely their right! But not a lot gets said, maybe, about how good things can be, even when—especially when—they're really hard.
After that first traumatic morning, my son didn't have any accidents and is fully and completely using the potty, something he managed to figure out in a matter of days. Truly, a savant! (With an assist from the Lovevery book about JJ.) But sincerely, beyond the matter of what he's accomplished, I am so happy and so honored to be his mother right now that I wanted to put in words how grateful I am to him—not just the fact that he learned to do this one thing that every kid eventually learns, but that he shared that day with me and let me teach him. I know that one day he'll have a whole inner life I know nothing about and can only be part of if he invites me in, and I hope he does. I'm trying hard to be the person he'll continue to be this open with.
So, I know it's just potty training, but with all of it in the rearview—with him so casually saying "oh, potty!" and running off to a new step of independence, all by himself—I find myself with something so sacred and wonderful. Nothing could ever be more precious to me than the day I got to spend with my son.
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