To all the mothers whose children were easy to potty train…God bless you. I’m thrilled for you. And horribly jealous. Because I wouldn’t wish potty training a difficult child on my worst enemy. Not my very worst one.
The details aren’t important. Suffice it to say that Erin is about 95% trained. Alex is closer to 75%, maybe a little more. This week, I’m going to have to suck it up and start with 22-month old Megan because any more delay is just proof of my own cowardice in this area.
And for me…potty training has been just about the absolute worst part of the preschool years.
A year of being daily up to my elbows in the practical reality of potty training has finally brought me to my knees…face-to-face with how pitifully shallow is my well of godliness. Having stumbled into a realm where I cannot convince a little boy to go to the potty 2 minutes sooner, I’ve learned that whatever Spirit-like qualities I thought I had…well, there isn’t nearly the store of them that I would have bragged to you about even a few short months ago.
Yes, Alex can and will go. I’ve seen him hold it, by choice, for 9 hours. But on any given day, we slog through wet underpants, wet shorts, wet shirts, pee sprayed as if by water cannon to the farthest reaches of the bathroom. A daily struggle that no reward and no punishment seem to be an effective motivation to move past.
And I’m discouraged.
I feel like I’m the one who’s failing him. I know it’s his choice. I know he’s only 3 and half. I know he’ll “get it” eventually. I know all of that. But after I’ve changed the 6th pair of underpants, 4th pair of shorts and cleaned up the bathroom floor for the second time in a day…I start wondering what I’m doing wrong.
And I get frustrated. More than a year, and it feels like we’re spinning our wheels, making little to no progress. Of course, “everyone” goes on and on about not being negative, only positive, no matter how many mistakes are made. But honestly…that’s a pipe dream for me right now. Sure, some days go well. My attitude is okay. We deal with it, even have great success (he really can stay dry all day…he did it yesterday). But most days…it’s not just the cause of my ever-growing laundry pile, it’s also the source of my greatest mess-up as a mom.
Yet…here’s the funny thing. As I’ve searched and prayed and longed for encouragement and answers about the whole 10-car pileup, I’m starting to see that we’re really having the same problem, me and Alex.
There’s not much difference between his potty-training issues and my own.
Not that my PT issues involve the actual using of the bathroom. I can do that just fine. But my lack of patience, my frustration (even anger) on the long, rough days, my inability to find the way out of this one on my own, the desperate need for someone to tell me I’m not a horrible person, even though I keep messing this one up, over and over and over. All of that just makes me want to cry. Why can’t I get it right? And why, after all my striving, won’t someone just give me a hug and tell me something that will make me feel better?
And then it hits me…this must be exactly how my little boy feels.
I’m struggling because I can’t find us an answer (which I, of course, always have), because I end up scolding him for not going potty like he “should,” because it’s been a whole year of hard work and potty talk and I still can’t see the end looming anywhere in sight. I’m tired and too hard on myself and think getting it “right” means never, ever doing it wrong.
And so is he.
He’s trying. I know he is. He’s been working on this for a whole year, too, and he’s not getting it “right” either. He’s my tender-hearted little man, easily embarrassed, and his Mommy keeps harping on how he’s not doing what she wants. He’s learning a new skill, and it’s not coming easily, and Erin rubs it in that he’s messed up and Mommy gets frustrated instead of showing grace.
No wonder we aren’t making progress…either of us!
And on top of all that, I’m starting to wonder if this isn’t really about potty training anyway. I’m starting to wonder if there are much bigger things at stake here than wet pants and puddles of pee.
I’m starting to wonder if it’s much more about what sort of God I’m putting on display. Am I showing my kids a God who condemns us for our lack of perfection, like I tend to do to Alex? Am I showing them that, no matter what I say to the contrary, I still believe God is demanding me to never disappoint him, to always get it right? Am I illustrating brilliantly my complete ignorance of grace?
I’m starting to wonder if it’s less about potty training than about learning how to fail. First about letting my kids learn at 3, instead of 16 or 27 or 55, that sometimes you can work for months and months and still not get it “right.” That progress is the focus, not perfection. But not just teaching them – teaching me. Challenging my long-held belief that life is all about the end goal and my tendency to demand and fake perfection and forcing me instead to think of life in terms of choosing daily disciplines that will eventually get me to that end goal, but on His term, not mine.
I’m starting to wonder if it’s less about getting my son to go to the potty 2 minutes earlier and more about God designing for us an impasse that forces me to depend, to pray, to stop spit-shining my “good mom” persona and be honest about the depth and frequency of my mom-fails, and to recognize (and even blog about) my need for encouragement and restoration. Something that, for all of those reasons and more, I might actually need to be…*gasp*…thankful for?!?
At least, that’s some of what I’m starting to wonder. And I have no real answers.
But, when nap time is over, we will start again. Fighting the battles. Finding the grace we both need to get us over the hump. Discerning who my son really is so that we can find the just-right motivation that will help him succeed.
And I will start over again, too. Cleaning up messes (mine and his). Learning to forgive (myself and him). Asking for help. Keeping perspective. Learning to give thanks. Searching for grace.
Until one of these days, I can happily announce that we all survived the trenches of potty training. And oh…what a glorious day that will be!
