What's that, reader?
You wanted to read an inspiring post on something creative and wonderful?
Perhaps a recipe filled with butter and cinnamon?
Alas, that day shall come. But today is not it. Because as I sit to type this, at the end of a grueling day, I lack that super-Mom energy it takes to be creative in the trenches. At least for the moment.
The day began with promise. I awoke to beautiful sunshine and a full french press of coffee, courtesy of my loving husband. We spent a few minutes sharing in conversation before the wee one woke up and requested her morning milk and cartoon. It was still shaping up to be a deliciously sweet day as shared a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bananas and peanut butter, and toast – I love family breakfast time.
In my mind, I was already mentally preparing for mine and Georgia's day at home. You see, today was epic. Today was the day. The day we began potty training.
I hadn't really thought Georgia was ready to begin until about a month ago, when she began telling me “poop” every time she went to the bathroom in her diaper. It's actually pretty cute, because she elongates the ‘oop' sound….so it's more like “pooooop”. It's not cute, however, when you're at an elder's house for dinner and in the middle of prayer she decides to loudly start announcing to the dinner table that she's just done her business.
Alas, I figured the baby will be on his or her way in a few months, so why the heck no try and get this battle down before I'm nursing 12 hours a day again.
At seven thirty, we began. The drinking of kombucha. The running around with no diaper on. The M&M treats for staying dry. The doll that pretended to drink and use the toilet. We sang songs on the toilet. We watched Kipper on the toilet. We hung out in that bathroom all morning. Every ten minutes we were on that potty….
…and y'all, it was a disaster.
In Georgia's defense, she did pretty good. She sat as commanded. She proudly checked herself for dryness and helped me flush the toilet after the doll ‘used it' and helped me wash her hands. But by 10:00 I was absolutely spent. There was 0% energy left in my reserve.
I'm going to blame this on the following factors, because I like to make excuses:
1. I'm pregnant and everything is getting harder for me physically. Including man-handling a toddler, sitting on the bathroom floor, and chasing around a naked baby.
2. I'm hormonal and on an emotional roller coaster. Be it from the move, the pregnancy, the stresses of motherhood – who knows. I'll claim them all. But girlfriend is a little unstable these days.
3. I didn't have enough sugar this morning. And while this may sound ridiculous, I've found that on mornings where I don't eat enough sugar (ie: granola, lots of fruit, jam, etc.) I completely plummet around 9:30 when my blood sugar gets too low. I blame this on my mother, who also has low blood sugar problems. Thanks, Mom.
4. By 9:45, Georgia had had two accidents on the floor, one of which resulted in her running away from me, slipping in the potty, and hitting her head on a table.
Sometimes, you just gotta know when to call it. Unfortunately, our rough day didn't stop there.
I've since been blessed by many encouraging words from Mothers who have all been through this very trench. And after shedding a few tears and feeling bad about my failure to be patient with my child, I realized being so hard on myself just isn't worth it.
Take a deep breath now, Shaye. Keep perspective. Keep cool.
Who cares if she's not potty trained in a day. In a week. In a month.
Eventually, at some point in her life, she's bound to quit pooping in her diapers. And at that point, whenever it may be, you can consider this task a success.
It can be such a challenge as a Mother, keeping patient and loving when you really want to rip your hair out. (Come on now, don't leave me hanging, I know I'm not the only one…) There are good days. There are bad days. And there are really bad days.
There are some days when I have the emotional strength, grace, and energy it takes to be patient and loving all day long.
And then there are days when I send Stu a #911 text and contemplate how in the world I am ever going to manage enough patience and grace for soon-to-be two little ones.
I'll let you guess which one today was.
Regardless, I am thankful that the Lord's grace begins anew every morning. Tomorrow is a new day and a fresh start. I'm going to shower. I'm going to pray. I'm going to snuggle my husband. I'm going to pray some more. And then I'm going to eat some chocolate.
Sometimes, you gotta be thankful a day is only 24 hours.