A fun fact about me: today was my due date, some 30+ years ago. Instead, I chose to bide my time, appearing ten days later on the 12th. I was supposed to be a Groundhog Day arrival and ended up a Lincoln baby.
My son came in my room the other morning, as he usually does when he wakes up. I had been up quite a bit during the night with the baby, so I was still very tired, and when he said in his little cheery voice, 'Good morning, Mom!', I just wanted him to go away. Half-asleep, with my eyes still closed, I told him to climb up in bed with me and cuddle a little bit, hoping to score a few more minutes lounging in bed. He did, and as he nestled into my chest, I ran my arm around his backside to pull him in closer and got a little surprise. Rather than the flannel jammie bottoms I expected to feel, my hand instead cradled a little bare bum. I opened my eyes and asked him, 'What happened to your pants?' He smiled at me and said, 'I peed in them so I took them off!' He paused a moment, perhaps for dramatic effect, then added, 'All by myself.'
All by myself. AS parents, part of our job is to move our kids to that phrase in every aspect of their lives. It starts almost from birth. Don't rock your baby to sleep, or he'll never learn to fall asleep on his own! Be sure your baby gets plenty of tummy time, so he can learn to hold his head up by himself. We're given these helpless creatures who are completely dependant on us and expected to turn out independent young adults in the 18 or so years that we have them.
Working towards this independence is quite a job, especially in the early years. My three year old can now go to the potty himself, relieving me of the diaper duty that kept him dependent on me. He can undress himself for the most part, and we're working now on getting dressed. He can put him own undies on, and most of the time his pants too. He can feed himself, but he's been doing that for a long time now. Not too long ago, he surprised us at how little he needed us to help with the TiVo, as he nonchalantly paused his show to run and get some milk.
It's so cute to see this little person develop. I can't believe this is the same newborn that we brought home a little more than three years ago. All of a sudden, it seems, he's doing his own thing. He tells me, 'Just a moment, Mom, I have to go check something.' Or he'll say, 'I've got a good idea! Maybe we could go eat some pizza!' Just this morning he told me, 'When the clock gets on seven, then it will be time for you to play with me.'
But each step towards independence is ultimately a step away from me. Soon he won't need me to help him put his shoes on. He won't want me picking him up from school, or hanging out on a Friday night. I am pouring my life and soul into these years with him, only to know that he will be leaving me in the end.
And that's the kicker. Every parent knows that the day is coming; it's lurking somewhere in the murky future when your child's life is no longer dependent on you. It's sweet and sour – the ache you feel at being not necessary is tempered by the wonder that is this new, independent person that you helped shape. I feel it now, even as my son is still a toddler. I miss shoveling cereal in his little mouth, but look how great he is at using that spoon himself.
So as you grow, dear son, I'll keep pushing you to do it yourself. Because one day, sooner than I'll be ready for, it will be all you. And I'll be content to sit back and admire my handiwork.
February 2, 2007
Showing posts with label potty training. Show all posts
Showing posts with label potty training. Show all posts
Friday, August 14, 2009
4:00 a.m.
One of the fun things about having kids is never knowing if you'll get a full night's sleep or not. Kind of like some sort of cruel lottery - 'Ooooo - maybe tonight's the night!'
Last night was not one of those nights. Around 4 a.m., I had just put the baby back to bed after feeding him, when I heard cries from the older one coming from the next room. Since I was already up, I went over to see what was going on. We're at Grandma and Grandpa's for Thanksgiving, so I guessed that he had probably woken up and forgotten where he was. So I go in and he's sitting up in his bed, crying his eyes out. I sat down next to him, rubbed his back, and asked him what was wrong. He just kept crying, so I pulled him close to me for a hug, and that's when I felt the wet pants. Yup - he had peed in his bed. He's pretty new at the potty training thing, but up to this point, he hadn't wet the bed. But he was crying the most heartbreaking cry and he was wet and the bed was wet, so I stripped his pants and got him some new underwear, and then stripped the bed and was ready to tuck him back in, when I realized his pj top was also wet. So the poor kid already has no pants, and I'm taking his shirt also. I told him to hang on a moment while I got him a new shirt. I went back into my room, and when I came back, he was curled up on the floor shivering, and still sniffing a bit. I picked him up, put on his warm shirt and gave him a big hug before tucking him back into bed.
I went back into my room, where my husband had woken up, so I briefly told him what had happened. Then I laid there, trying to get back to sleep, but all I could think about was my poor little boy, sitting in his own pee, so sad and helpless to do anything about it, and I thought, "This is the time when I love being a mother." Strange, but true. It's not that I enjoy waking up in the middle of the night to change a boy and a bed, but it's the fact that I can take care of my son, who at that moment needs me desperately. My child, who is utterly helpless, laying in his own filth and misery, and I can make all that go away. This child is just pitiful -- and yet my heart swells with love to see him and want to help him.
And then my thoughts started to wander again, and a view of God cleared in my mind. How much more so are we pitiful little children, mired in our own filth and sin, wallowing in our helplessness and stench, unable to do anything about it, when He walks in, and is stirred with compassion and love for us. He lifts us out of it all, cleans us off, and gathers us in His embrace. I know my son was grateful for my help; I saw the look on his face as he snuggled into a dry bed once again. Where's my look of gratitude for my Father? Or am I so calloused to His mercy on my pitiful estate that I shrug it off, or worse, consider it unworthy of my thanks?
Just my thoughts in the night.....
November 23, 2006
Last night was not one of those nights. Around 4 a.m., I had just put the baby back to bed after feeding him, when I heard cries from the older one coming from the next room. Since I was already up, I went over to see what was going on. We're at Grandma and Grandpa's for Thanksgiving, so I guessed that he had probably woken up and forgotten where he was. So I go in and he's sitting up in his bed, crying his eyes out. I sat down next to him, rubbed his back, and asked him what was wrong. He just kept crying, so I pulled him close to me for a hug, and that's when I felt the wet pants. Yup - he had peed in his bed. He's pretty new at the potty training thing, but up to this point, he hadn't wet the bed. But he was crying the most heartbreaking cry and he was wet and the bed was wet, so I stripped his pants and got him some new underwear, and then stripped the bed and was ready to tuck him back in, when I realized his pj top was also wet. So the poor kid already has no pants, and I'm taking his shirt also. I told him to hang on a moment while I got him a new shirt. I went back into my room, and when I came back, he was curled up on the floor shivering, and still sniffing a bit. I picked him up, put on his warm shirt and gave him a big hug before tucking him back into bed.
I went back into my room, where my husband had woken up, so I briefly told him what had happened. Then I laid there, trying to get back to sleep, but all I could think about was my poor little boy, sitting in his own pee, so sad and helpless to do anything about it, and I thought, "This is the time when I love being a mother." Strange, but true. It's not that I enjoy waking up in the middle of the night to change a boy and a bed, but it's the fact that I can take care of my son, who at that moment needs me desperately. My child, who is utterly helpless, laying in his own filth and misery, and I can make all that go away. This child is just pitiful -- and yet my heart swells with love to see him and want to help him.
And then my thoughts started to wander again, and a view of God cleared in my mind. How much more so are we pitiful little children, mired in our own filth and sin, wallowing in our helplessness and stench, unable to do anything about it, when He walks in, and is stirred with compassion and love for us. He lifts us out of it all, cleans us off, and gathers us in His embrace. I know my son was grateful for my help; I saw the look on his face as he snuggled into a dry bed once again. Where's my look of gratitude for my Father? Or am I so calloused to His mercy on my pitiful estate that I shrug it off, or worse, consider it unworthy of my thanks?
Just my thoughts in the night.....
November 23, 2006
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