So the other morning I was having this long and involved and racy dream that I was twentysomething at a party, and behaving how twentysomethings behave at parties. Actually, scratch that. I was behaving how I as an early twentysomething behaved at parties. You have to understand me. I’ve never had a real vice. I’ve never smoked. I’ve never tried any drugs. I’ve never been drunk, although I’ve been buzzed a few times and I don’t find it as enjoyable as people seem to think I will. But that’s another story. I did have my own issues in my 20’s and they surfaced in this dream.
I was sooo twenty-something in this dream. It was fabulous. I can’t even remember details of the dream. I just remember that there were two guys – one was a mixture of Cassidy and Doctor Who. I don’t remember the other one. All I remember is how exciting it was to like two guys who were at the same party and give each one a smoldering and longing look while the other one wasn’t watching. And I remember walking down hallways and turning around to catch the eye of one of my two men. Meaningful looks were exchanged. I got a shiver of excitement down my spine. Oh, how exciting! To be young and to not have to commit. To have a party full of young and strapping men…until…
…I woke up to poop. Seriously. Cassidy walked into the bedroom holding Scarlet and showed me poop in her little toilet. And I was conscious enough to gasp, “Yay! Go Scarlet!” I knew what it meant. It meant my 18-month-old pooped in the potty. Big stuff! But, I was still wiping dream sleep from my eyes. I was still in the pounding heart, pulsing music, polygamous pace of my dream. I was caught between two worlds. The contrast was too jarring for early morning. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to fall back into the dream…only…I couldn’t possibly do that! I had to race downstairs, hug my little girl, and do the “potty dance” the way the books tell you to. I tried to conjure up the images from my dream but all I could see was my little girl’s gap-toothed grin. I had to go hug her.
So I did. And reality was so much better than my dream.
But it’s all confusing. I was late to be potty trained. So was my mom. So is our culture in general. People tell me that other countries potty train their children much earlier. I’ve been a bit mellow in my attitude toward potty training. First of all, I read too much Freud in high school and I’m afraid that if you force them into it too early, they became uptight people. On the other hand, if you’re too mellow about it, maybe they turn into jobless potheads. I know there are a lot of holes in Freud’s thinking…I’m just a neurotic mom. Bear with me. Aren’t we all afraid we’re scarring our children for life with everything we do?
And they say potty training means no more diapers…but does it really?? I think it means several years of accidents and nightly bed-wetting. Not to mention the car trips where we have to pull over 17 times to the chorus of “I have to go to the bathroom!” Nope, siree. I prefer diapers over that. I don’t know how the heck my parents did road trips with five kids.
And with diapers, I’m used to them. They’re not pleasant but they’ve been a part of my life for 18 months. It’s just another part of baby parenting that I’m holding onto because in truth, I am afraid of my “baby” growing up. So I am afraid of potty training. I am afraid of more independence. However you can’t be half assed when you potty train. So I have to get strong and push my fears aside. It’ll happen when it happens but we can gently encourage her now. I’m just glad Cassidy is here. Sometimes you need help with parenting and sometimes you really need help. This is one of those times.