Yet Another Broken Resolution of Motherhood

I always swore I would tell my children the truth. As a matter of fact (don't judge me) Emily already knows that Santa is pretend and that the Easter bunny (who could honestly think that was possible anyway) is faker than fake. But I have realized that sometimes you have to tell your children lies to prevent them from doing things that will be physically or emotionally damaging to themselves. I have already divulged the lie that I told Emily to keep her from cutting her hair, but a couple weeks ago I did it again. I lied to my trusting child.

First of all, you have to understand the desperation that comes with having a 3 year old that has had no success with potty training. For nine months, I have had two children in diapers. I have come to feel that my life exists only in tiny snippets between diaper changes. I knew Emily could understand the concepts. She would dig in her heels and argue with me about why she shouldn't use the toilet. She didn't just yell "no" and cry, she actually used well formed arguments in complete sentences. I was ready to try anything. I took all the advice I could get. We tried every type of reward under the sun. I tried setting her on the toilet every half hour. I even tried punishment. Nothing worked.

And that's when we made our preschool visit to get her on the waiting list. I didn't know a kid could get so excited about school, but after the visit, Emily was ready to sell her soul to go to preschool. Enter the big lie. I told her that they wouldn't accept her unless she was potty trained. I know that is true with some schools, but not this one. I needed a carrot to dangle and I was desperate. That was on a Thursday. The following Sunday, Emily discovered the will to succeed. No effort on my part. Now I am in trouble. Emily is quickly making her way towards being completely potty trained and yet the preschool waiting list refuses to budge. I am beginning to sense a relapse. Oh what a tangled web we weave!

Everybody Poops

I recently recalled a conversation I had with Chris years ago. It was in the golden age before children. We were spending time with some friends who possessed several small children. The wife (let's call her Jan) had just been shouting at the top of her lungs, "Who pooped? I can smell poop". And then, after finding the culprit, she became angry and announced to the pooper, "I don't have any diapers for you. You'll just have to wear some of your brother's".

Not having spent much time around small children, I was horrified. I told Chris I never wanted to have children because it would make me lose my dignity. Chris reassured me, saying, "Jan and you are very different people. You would never be like her in a million years. I'm sure she wasn't dignified before she had children. You, on the other hand, ooze dignity. She is one kind of mom and you will be another kind of mom. You can still keep your identity and be a mother".

Well, Chris, several years later I can tell you that you were unqualifiedly WRONG! I have not a shred of dignity to my name. I lost most of it during Emily's infant months - dealing with public blowouts, trying to nurse in a crowd and going everywhere with a baby that screamed at the top of her lungs all the time. I can actually mark the moment when the last bit of dignity left me. As I puked into a jar in front of a roomful of people during my labor with Jane, I realized it was gone for good. All my dreams of being a sophisticated woman who is known for her grace and clever remarks in intelligent company went into that jar on that cold December morning.

So what triggered that distant memory of my dignified days? While engaged in a conversation with my hairstylist (whom I knew before either she or I were mothers) I realized we had been talking for at least fifteen minutes about our children's poop. Neither of us were embarrassed and the conversation was interesting to both of us. What had happened to those days in college when she would cut my hair and we would discuss world events and concerts and rumors of which new restaurants were coming to town? I'll tell you what happened. This happened:



And then this happened:

At least I got something in return for my dignity.