Adventures in Babyshitting

Now that I officially have a toddler (she’s just a wee 16 months, but if she toddles, she’s a toddler, right?), I realize that bumblebee’s father and I must now gently guide her through a whole new leg of developmental milestones.

So far, I think we’ve done ok:

We’ve seen her through to

Running



Landscaping



Screaming



Pondering the important things in life



And turning us into complete suckers with her cuteness


So, I think that we are all prepared for whatever comes next – talking, for example. Bumblebee’s vocabulary increases daily, and we have always talked to her like a normal person, so I know she’ll thrive there (today, she told us what a bunny does – Hop! Hop! Hop!). One day she may even sleep through the night, or in her crib…

Sorry, had to take a moment there. I was laughing so hard I had to pee.

Which brings me to the developmental milestone I most dread having to face:

Toilet training.

Seriously. This one I don't look forward to. Call me crazy, but I have never minded dealing with diapers, diaper changes, baby shit or any of it. I even did cloth diapers for the first 8 months, and only a body that is truly not fazed by shitty bums would deal with that action.

But toilet training scares me. I feel like I am already late out of the gate. We have several friends who have children the same age, and they have had a potty around for months. Not because they intend their child to use it yet, but so that said child will recognize it, be curious about it and want to use it. One friend puts her 15 month son on the potty frequently, and has been rewarded with a little pish in the dish. My nanny’s 18-month old daughter has already pooped in the potty – after informing her that she had to go!

I can’t imagine being so toilet savvy yet. Even tho she toddles, my babe is still, well, a babe. I certainly don’t want to rush her, and even tho she clearly hates having her diaper changed, I can’t picture her going the grown up way for a while. And more importantly, I’m not ready. And I hate pottys. They remind me of old, infirm people, and I can’t imagine having to clean the thing out 10 times a day. We never had one when I was little; just a seat that went on the seat so that little bottoms couldn’t slip through. And my mother insists that we were all toilet trained in one week, at age 2 years, 2 months. Not a day before. Except my brother. He was slightly more resistant, and my mother made jokes that she would be chasing him down the aisle at his wedding yelling, ‘please, please, let’s put on big boy pants!’ My sister trained her daughter by letting her run around naked in the garden all summer. But they lived on an island in BC, with slightly fewer neighbours, and slightly more land than our city pad enjoys.

So that’s it then, I suppose. Off to the country with us. Pack lightly; we won’t be needing any pants.

This, I realize, is my mothering achilles’ heel. I co-sleep, breastfeed, made organic babyfood, sing to, read to, talk to, and am head-over-heels bonkers for my child. But I am not looking forward to toilet training. I am scared of it. Don’t even know why. The notion of having to spend a week cooped up in the house to ensure that we always have a dumping ground at the ready? The prospect that, like with breastfeeding and sleeping, bumblebee will be loathe to change the program? The idea that once bumblebee is through with diapers that she is also truly done with being a baby?

That’s the part that freaks the crap out of me.



you want me to what? where?


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special thanks to metro mama for lending us cakes' sweater for this early morning photoshoot. bee's father pays so much attention to his daughters' wardrobe that he had no idea that it wasn't hers. don't worry, I've washed it!