Sami is just a little over 3 years old, and I’ve finally gotten around to starting toilet learning with him.  (I don’t really like the term “potty training” because it kind of sounds like boot camp to me.)  In the scheme of things, it is not incredibly late, and I’ve read about some studies that show that the later you start, the faster it happens.

Perhaps he has been ready for a while.  He shows some of the signs, like awareness when he is wet or poopy, and then he asks me to change him.  So he doesn’t like the sensation of being soiled, whereas I feel like four months ago he couldn’t have cared less.

But truth be told, I wasn’t ready.  They’ve been working on it with him at school for a while, but I have just avoided the whole thing when he is with me.  It’s been easier for me, frankly, to change diapers then to have yet another struggle to deal with.  I’ve not wanted to disturb the peace in that arena.  Call me a slacker mom - I deserve it!

Last week, his teacher really asked for my help with it.  I think she might have realized how clueless and I am, how avoidant, because she gave me articles to read, and even asked me to sign a “contract” saying that I’d do this and that.  I feel like I need to try to get in line with what they are doing at school, plus I am starting to get to the point where I’m really ready for him to show some independence around the whole thing.

I think part of the block for me with getting started, beyond sheer overwhelm, has been that I don’t have the same parts as him.  I have felt kind of awkward about standing over him as he points his little penis into the toilet.  But this weekend, I decided to be brave and go for it.  I’ve become a major toilet cheerleader, turning on the water in the sink to help him, and shouting copious praise when some drops dribble out.

He hit the potty about 10 times this weekend, and each time he shows a good faith effort to produce something, he gets a Spiderman band-aid.  He loves stickers, temporary tattoos, all that stuff, so I thought it would be a good incentive.  His little legs are covered with band-aids, which is kind of funny.  Instead of a sticker chart, he has body art!  I wonder if he will be one of those cool young men with tasteful tats one day.

This weekend alone, he has shown a lot of progress.  My first serious attempt to get him on the toilet on Friday night met with major tears, tantruming and extreme unhappiness.  But now, just a few days later, he jumps on without complaint.  I know this is going to be a long haul, but at least we are getting a start at Sami hitting the potty without a whole lot of misery.

So far this experience has reminded me how parenting is so much easier when you feel a sense of empowerment.  I’ve kind of been hiding in silent shame about my unwillingness to start his toilet learning, but that talk with his teacher and her encouragement helped me to take the leap into another phase of Sami’s development.  (And lord knows, in these lean times, I’ll be thrilled to not have to shell out major bucks for those ridiculously expensive pullups.)

On another note, Sami has been asking for his dad a lot lately, although he still does not refer to him as “daddy,” but by his first name.  Whenever the doorbell rings, he now thinks it’s his father, and he gets so disappointed whenever it is not him. I am so happy that he feels connected to him, but it’s also incredibly painful to hear him ask for him. I wish he could have access to his father whenever he wanted to, but he can’t. There is a tremendous amount of guilt about that.  I just do my best to validate his feelings: “You miss your daddy a lot, don’t you?”  I don’t know what else to say or do. Perhaps soon, it might be time for an age-appropriate book about divorce.   

In the meantime, I have to deal with my own insecurities: that one day he will prefer his father over me, that he will want to live with his father and that happy little family he’s got going on, and not me, the boring single mom.  I know it’s crazy premature to be spinning into something like that, but those thoughts and feelings are there and I can’t simply push them away.

As always, the prescription for such mental suffering is the same: when I realize that I am future-tripping, try to let go of the internal chatter, to feel the feelings underneath, to give space for that energy to express itself, to remember that it is ephemeral, to bring it back to the present moment.  To breathe, to be with. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Sami is toilet learning, and I am learning how to co-parent after 10 months of 24/7 single parenthood.