Remind me not to invite this Wednesday to my next party. This Wednesday was the sort of party pooper that sits in the corner breaking stuff, throwing olives at the other guests and laughing too loudly and too close to your face. This Wednesday needed to be sedated, so I sedated it good and proper with seventeen pieces of Bitsa Wispa.
I have had to learn some hard lessons this week. And oh, I feel foolish for having to learn them so often. Yesterday we made a crash-and-burn attempt at toilet training. We tried a few months ago, but I was too pregnant to clear up four pee puddles before breakfast, and decided to leave it until the baby had arrived. This week I made it through three hours and four pairs of pants before realising he still wasn’t ready.
I was, though. I wanted to be done with nappies. Since he started talking in sentences I tend to forget that he’s still barely out of babyhood, and wanted to get something else ticked off and out of the way. This week, toilet training, next week the alphabet, right? But he’s not a tick-list. I forgot that not everything has to be at breakneck speed, and it’s alright to just let him be.
Today I woke up after hardly any sleep with a painful ankle (I think Jillian Michaels may have thirty-day-shredded my Achilles heel). Henry left three separate puddles in the bathroom – I wasn’t even trying to potty train; I just couldn’t hobble fast enough with the nappy – and Teddy contributed two. After this Peemageddon, Teds screamed until I sat down to feed him, and while I fed him Henry somersaulted himself backwards off the bed and wondered why the landing hurt. By the time Timothy came home we were two tantrums down, two to go, and I was ranty-crying over sausage casserole like a lunatic.
I was disappointed. I’ve tried so hard lately to feel competent. I’ve got dressed and dried my hair and smiled extra-large at the people who asked how I was doing, to cover up the bags under my eyes. It made me feel better. Look at me, getting on top of things so quickly! But I forgot that not everything has to be at breakneck speed. Some days it’s ok to hobble and cry and fall off the bed head-first. Some days there will be pee on the floor and grease in my hair. I can be afraid, and the world won’t end with a bang.
I can eat seventeen pieces of Bitsa Wispa, and just try again tomorrow.
(Apart from the toilet training, which has been shelved until after Christmas. Much to Thomas’ relief).