honest rebellion
The day, the hour, the minute arrived unexpectedly. She awoke with a declaration: quiet, but booming within her. Something about potty, bathroom, and diaper sandwiched among an assortment of words spoken to quickly and slurred to be understood, even by her mother. She'd spoken them before, but her words were overshadowed by a parent's, to be precise, my preoccupations.
This morning was different. There was something...sure, confident, bittersweet. Memories yet to be had, yet to be missed. I envision years down the road. A young girl with helmet in hand, open asphalt, pursuing an open horizon, firmly grasped to the handles of a new bike. A soon-to-be teenager boldly requesting privacy as she talks fashion and movies excitedly with her best friend. Or the days of learning permits, shaking hands, and an occasional nervous jerk of the wheel. This morning was different.
She had clear intentions, or as much as can be built up in the mind of a toddler. She had a glow of determination, so I thought, gleaming from her curious and inquisitive stare, anxiously awaiting her mother's response and approval. Well it certainly wasn't jotted down in my planner; life is too hectic for potty training. But I guess the inevitable chases us down. An array of articles, parenting manuals, and noisy women all swirling in my head, telling me what to do. The pediatric nurse in me questioning her physical readiness: urinary retention, muscle, and nerve sensations.
A million thoughts and a quick second later, "Let's go to the potty!"
I reflect back, a mere 48 hours later. Frustrated just a little, tired beyond description, analyzing pointlessly. A mother letting out sighs filled with too many emotions to list.
A milestone, surely a monumental feat in the life of an Elmo-loving child. Not even the squeaky voice exiting the furry creature can persuade her to complete what we set out to do. A porcelain white throne, a stubborn princess. Admittedly, it must truly be a challenging and arduous task. Cold, hard glass-like substance against the back of her legs. Stage fright, also a new quest to conquer. Mom and dad cheering, clapping, dancing the potty dance annoyingly. Too much too soon, I guess.
She is sensitive, careful, shy. Lovely attributes for a lovely child. I am not ashamed; I smile proudly, but quietly I applaud her valiant efforts. I am encouraged by her initiative, but she teaches her perfectionist mother so much more. When to stop, when to say "no, I'm not quite ready", when to know your limits. At the end of the day, she shook her head, not out of rebellion, not for control, but in honesty to her self. And I wholeheartedly believe her.