A Million Little Pieces of Peepee.

       Some days my mommy-hood is a mixture of being forgetful and frustrated, figuring out the problem and then being forgiven. I had that day this week. I had a fitful night of sleep and woke with a headache and a wish to go right back to bed. The girls needed breakfast, and with fall in full swing, my first grader needed to get nagged into her shoes, jacket and backpack. After those few tasks, and seeing her onto the bus on time, I was free to meld into the couch for a few minutes and eat my own breakfast of tylenol and cold cereal.

      I was lulled for an hour into a calm and peaceful state as my other two homebound little girls were quietly watching cartoons in the lower level. My 4 year old dresses herself every morning and since we've set up new guidelines for the closet that has been going really well. I hadn't really given any thought to changing my 2 year old out of her pajamas as it wasn't that late and they were playing so nicely. So I settled in for a rerun and a cup of tea, some bill paying online and general zoning out.

      It wasn't a surprise that I was interrupted shortly thereafter (I swear they can sense when I am finally getting to work!). Bounding around the kitchen and dining room chasing balloons and each other, the clatter and racket was distracting to say the least. I scooted them out the front door to be rambunctious in the yard and took my teacup to the sink. I slipped on my way there, my flip flop rolling over a mush of tiny clear beads on the hardwood. Ughh, I assume the girls left this lovely mess for me, no doubt a congealed remnant of some packing material they have picked apart. I heard them coming back inside and then just as fast heard them giggling down the stairs to the family room again. 

      "Shut the door!" I yell, though it's futile now, they are downstairs out of ear shot and long gone from caring. I mosey over to the front door and see another patch of these mushy beads in the front entry. My irritation mounting, I start for the lower level only to be stopped mid-tracks by another clump of the stuff at the top of the stairs. I get a paper towel and start smearing it around as I holler down at the girls. "What is this yucky stuff? What did you two get into?" 

       The mention of yucky stuff sparks their curiosity and I hear the pounding of their four feet up the stairs. They get super interested then, marching around the stuff, checking it out and poking at it. I can feel myself getting heated and accusatory as I turn toward the garbage can with the towel full of tiny beads in my hand. It's then I see it, the enormous puddle and drip pattern next to the garbage can. I feel silly then. I know exactly what this is...it's a million little pieces of peepee...an exploded diaper from my toddler. 

       "Ohhhh," I say,recognition dawning and the clarity of it coming into focus. "Gretchen, did you take off your diaper?" She smiles and says yes. It's a requirement every morning for her big sister, to take off a wet pull up and put it in the trash. It should have been obvious right? The mess is awful, spread all over the house, main level and entry, tracked down the stairs and on the playrug. It isn't the first time I've dealt with exploded diaper but generally, my experience has been limited to water play, outdoor exposure and unfortunate mishaps in the washer and dryer. After smearing and picking it up piece by tiny piece, I got out the dustbuster and went to town sucking up gel balls. 

       The girls thought it was pretty funny and watched me chasing the patches and puddles, my accusations forgiven and forgotten. My mind was elsewhere afterward though, stuck on a comment I'd made to my youngest during my clean up adventure: "You need to start using the potty."

       She's thirty months, two and a half years old, and big for her britches. Not literally actually, she is fairly petite, weighing in at twenty-four pounds and barely can keep her size 2Ts on her hips. She is super chatty though, surprising everyone when I say that she is only two as she talks in full sentences and tells stories. She can run to keep up with her sisters and they enjoy playing with her as part of their threesome. It makes it difficult not to compare my kids when they are all together, chatting and singing and making believe. 

       I am guilty of it now and it is making me feel a little guilty. I thought back to all the milestones for the older two girls, fully aware that they were potty-trained, during the day, at 26months and 24months. I was not a pushy mom; they were motivated and easy to train. I swear it took less than a week for each (giving an extra few days to manage the pooping on the potty part) and I admit I was ridiculously proud. We had our share of setbacks and accidents, many trials of sprints through the grocery store to make it and dealing with a walk of shame or two when we just didn't. I've even sported my own wet shirt from carting out a wet butt on my hip during those rare events when things go meltdown wrong. But here we sit, months past the 2 year old mark, and nowhere near potty trained. 

       Sadly, it isn't for lack of interest on either of our parts. She is keen to do it, will sit on the toilet anytime, climbing up on her pink stepstool and parking on her soft Sesame street little seat. I think her body isn't ready. She can push and sometimes gets out a toot or two. Just can't let her peepee go. Which is too bad when she is motivated and I am willing. We have the time right now too, with the both of us at home during the day and the biggest sister away at school having someone else manage her education and diabetes management. I am not hard on her about it, having tried and failed to do naked time as a start to training, learning the hard way that she has no control and no foresight to needing to go. I know she's still young as well, doesn't turn three until March and we will have all next year to fight this battle too. 

       I do wonder if it means it will not be as easy? If this start and failure, this interest but inability, means that she might buck later when she is able? For the most part she is an easy going kid so I hope not...I do watch her and keep track of her milestones, keeping in the back of my mind not to compare as each girl grows her own way and learns at her own pace. Oddly enough, you can't critique the fact that her sisters didn't speak as well as she does and that they didn't keep up with big kids nearly as well. I should be writing down the little victories if I am tallying up things to compare- she took her diaper off independently and got it all the way into the garbage this morning...that is one thing not even her big sisters can manage consistently!