The Worst Phase of All

As a mother, I am not keen on changing diapers.  It is not pleasant, and it is sure a drain on my bank account.

I do not love the process of potty training either.  Suddenly, my whole world revolves around a little person's bowels and bladder.  All I can think about and do.  The interruption for every activity that I commence is a trip to the toilet.  In the middle of cooking or cleaning or sleeping.  Even worse, in the middle of the grocery store when I am at the back with a cart full of food.  Everything revolves around the getting to the toilet.

But, at least in these phases I am prepared.  I know what I am dealing with.  I leave the house with diapers and wipes, or a change of clothes.

What is worse than these phases is when -- mentally -- I have advanced my child into the "fully potty-trained" category; I have moved out of the constantly thinking and worrying about their bodily fluids phase of mothering, but they have not come with me.

Instead, we have again commenced the Worst Phase of All.  The Procrastination Phase.

This is the phase in which there is really no good reason for my child to EVER have an accident.

This is the phase when I, quite stupidly, rely upon my child's own ability to let me know if she needs to use the bathroom, to ascertain all on her own when she needs to go, and let me know.

This is when I think that she probably has got down the concept of "holding it."

This occurs more than a full year after when we supposedly finished potty training.

And this is when all the accidents happen.

Except, now, I am not prepared.

Almost daily I see the signs.

Elsie Jane is having fun; she is playing with her dolls; she is watching television; she is swinging in the neighbor's backyard.  And, it would be just too difficult for her to stop and use the bathroom.  Way too inconvenient.  So, she doesn't.

Sometimes I am perceptive.  I watch her running on her tiptoes, moving her legs high speed around me while we talk or fix lunch, and I query, "Do you need to go potty?"

Always, the answer is, "No."

A few minutes later when the foot movements have become more frantic, I will again suggest a trip to the bathroom to "just try and go," which is most often also declined.

Finally, she will run up to me, high speed and in a frantic voice shout, "I need to go POTTY!"  Not a second can be spared.  All must be dropped, any task ceased, and we run together to the bathroom, her feet moving even more frenetically -- because apparently very rapid movement of your lower body prevents the bladder from emptying.

By the time we arrive at the toilet, she cannot focus enough or take her time to pull down her own pants and underwear, instead, I have to pull them down and lift her up and plop her down on the toilet seat in three seconds flat or else risk being sprayed by urine.  "Whew," we both sigh, and she says, "That was close!"

No kidding, kid!  Every time is close.  Except when it is too late.  Which is about 25% of the time.

Those are the moments when she lets me know she needs to go as the urine is already starting to trickle into her panties or just after it has run down her legs.

Nice. I love changing wet pants.

I guess I should ask her more often if she needs to go.  Maybe I should find a good bribe for going without an accident.  But, I do not think it will help.  She knows what to do, and she usually does it.  It is just that it is not a high priority for her so she waits too long and is easily distracted.

Maggie stayed in this phase for six months, except she did not ask for my help so that we could do the fast-paced, mad potty dash together several times a day.  No, she just tried to make it on her own, and when she could not disrobe fast enough, she abandoned her wet articles of clothing in the puddle at the base of the toilet and then went to her room and donned a new outfit.  My heart would sink every time I saw her turn up in something new -- I knew somewhere in some bathroom she had left a mess for me to clean-up.

Finally, one day, the wet piles and puddles just stopped.  And, then, I could REALLY celebrate having a non-procrastinating, fully potty-trained child.  Someday, I am sure Elsie Jane will also join these ranks.

But, until then, I am stuck in this most embarrassing of phases.  The phase where my proficiently "potty-trained" child regularly wets at friend's houses and the park.  The phase where I spend one tenth of my vacation running, full speed across Disneyland or SeaWorld to the bathroom, holding her hand and shouting, "Keep holding it.  You can do it.  Hold it, Elsie; hold it" while the crowds stare and she tiptoes high speed, her legs racing along with me.