To my dear potty training mamas. This one is for you.
I pray that you wake up with energy. There will not be caffeine enough to last you this journey; but I do pray that if you prescribe to that, that you get some to start the day. If not, maybe a well-balanced breakfast. And by “balanced,” I mean, juggled between feeding another mouth (or mouths) and your own.
When your little one goes potty, I hope that you can express genuine joy. Even though it’s the umpteenth day, and haven’t we gone through this already?? Paste that smile on, clap, high five, and reward. Soon you won’t need to, so enjoy that connection while you do.
I pray, so very much, that you don’t have to leave the house. But if you do, I hope that you remember the extra set of underwear, the extra pair of pants, the potty, the hand sanitizer, and the treats, just in case.
If there is any day to talk to another grown person, it is today. I pray that you get to have some adult interaction, if only to have a few sentences that don’t include, “Do you need to go potty?” and “Are your pants dry?” Also, I pray that you talk to God every moment you feel like you’re going to lose it. Remember how incredibly patient he is with you.
I pray that when you smell something funny, you’re heart doesn’t drop. When you spot an unusual pause or moment of concentration, may you make it to the potty in time. And when you find a bowel movement in a pair of underwear (again), that you won’t find steam coming out of your ears, and you don’t lose your ever-loving mind.
I pray that your washing machine and dryer don’t choose this week to betray you. That when you fold three, four, five pairs of underwear (again), that you smile at the Thomas the Tank Engine or Sofia the First, instead of gritting your teeth.
May your internet signal (for your Netflix account), and your coffee be strong. May your patience be even stronger. Take a deep breath, mama. Messes are easy to clean; angry words aren’t easy to take back.
I hope that somehow, even with all the moments of being in contact with bodily waste, that you can find something beautiful to hold onto. The look on your child’s face when they are triumphant. The silly victory dances and songs you enjoy together. The cookies you sneak in the kitchen after cleaning up a mess (again).
I pray that at the end of the day, no matter how many hits or misses, you can read stories, give hugs and kisses, and go to bed ready for a new day. I pray you can treat yourself at the end of a very long day. And know that somewhere out there, there’s another mama raising a glass, or fork, or remote, right there with you.
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