Potty Training, Part 1: Just Do It!

Sun is almost two and a half and should be potty trained according to his great grandmothers. I agree, and it's not like we haven't tried. Each time we get into the sitting on the potty routine, Sun seems to develop constipation. Then again, I haven't been good about keeping to that routine, in part, because we have so many interruptions in our daily routine that I would hesitate to call it such. For instance, in a few days, we will go on a five-day road trip. Why try to potty train Sun when he's going to be stuck in a car seat for hours on end, in unfamiliar locations, and totally off of any "schedule." This is what I tell myself, but it's probably just an excuse.

Like this one: I want to get him a more comfortable potty chair. When I bought his current potty chair, I was in the old Baby Boomer mindset: We don't need a tricked-out chair with music, a rack for holding magazines, and a flushing sound. So, we bought the basic model plastic potty, the most tricked-out feature of which is a rubber splash guard. Then, I see in the learn-to-go-to-the-potty videos and books these smiling babies, straddling what looks like a pony or a duck, contentedly bouncing away while doing their business.

Sun doesn't look like that when he sits on his potty. He looks--, well, bored. Maybe confused. He will sit there while I read to him or talk or sing. (I no longer run the water faucet to "encourage" him.) He sits there and sits there, and does nothing. I want to say, "Just do it!" but I don't. I know one day it will all click for him so I'm not anxious about this. The doctors, nurses, and teachers I've talked to sort of expect that a boy will not be potty trained until he's closer to three.

But today, my mother brought the subject up again. Gingerly. She had read an article in the newspaper about some parents who were still changing diapers for a three-year-old. That is unnecessary and unnacceptable, say the great grandmothers. I agree. "Sun is ready," she said. "He could learn in a couple of days. The article said parents put it off, but you just have to do it."

Just do it. Long sigh. Just do it.

Motherhood and Menopause

Paris Hilton has nothing on me. She may think she’s hot, but let me tell you, at 50, I am hot, hot, hot.

A month after I turned 48, I became a grandmother and a Mom Again. Two months later, I went into full, undeniable, merciless menopause. The menopause was chemically induced by gonadotropin-releasing hormone agonists. But my break from reproductive fertility was clearly on nature’s horizon because I had been in peri-menopause for years. Boy, was that fun! Now, menopause has arrived with a vengeance. At 50, I occupy two contradictory stages of womanhood, changing diapers and the change of life.

Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot

Holding and snuggling an infant or toddler is a joy divine, but these little suckers are warm. During a hot flash, which is pretty much constant with me these days, this beautiful bonding experience can be excruciating. It does not matter that we’re in the middle of summer; in any weather, I’m fifteen degrees warmer than everyone else in the room. The little bundles add another ten, squirmy degrees. Most days, I feel like I’ve done a heavy workout at the gym when all I’ve done is be a Mom in Menopause.

Another problem--I no longer know how to dress the children for the weather. When it's hot outside, I blast the air conditioner in the house. Consequently, Sun and Raine wear sweaters in the middle of August. When it's cold outside, I find it nice and comfortable. But I misjudge how many layers the children need. I have to ask BD to pick out the appropriate clothes for the day.

I’ve resisted taking any treatments for hot flashes or other symptoms of menopause in part because with all the conflicting information, I don’t know what’s safe, and in part because I do not have health insurance. If I had the time and energy, I’d read up on homeopathic remedies, but I have neither right now, nor the patience. So I sweat. And Sun and Raine are growing up with the constant whirring sound of my little black fans.

I’m not complaining. There are, of course, wonderful things about being in menopause. Especially since I’ve moved from Georgia to Ohio. And then there is the no-more-period thing. Freedom! But with freedom, comes heat. And from what I’ve been told by other women, the heat does not go away. So, I am truly a hot Mom Again.

Eat your heart out, Paris.

P.S. Does anyone know a good deodorant? Not an antiperspirant. I like to sweat, but I don't want to smell bad.