An Entirely Different Letter to Dutch

Dear Dutch,

I put you to bed early tonight because otherwise I would have thrown you out the window.

I’ve been getting my domestic groove on and have been researching all week this tried-and-true sworn-by method I keep hearing about–potty training in a day. My mom did it with both your uncle Kris and me and she swears by it.   I stayed up until midnight last night researching, reading about it, preparing.  The expert mom said her kids usually mastered it in 4 hours, all under the age of 3.  So  I learned how to throw a Potty Party.  I baked cupcakes.  I wrapped up a “potty bear”, with gift wrap and tissue paper, complete with sweatpants, Lightning McQueen underwear, and a nasal aspirator full of water to make him “pee” in the toilet.   I went to the store (with coupons!) and bought plenty of salty snacks and apple juice.  I prayed.  I educated Jeff about our process–an entire day in the bathroom, graduating from the toilet seat to a chair next to it, then slowly adding articles of clothing as you mastered taking the initiative to go potty yourself.  And then your daddy and I sat, on the floor, in the bathroom, reading books to you for NINE HOURS.

And you’re still peeing on the floor.

And I’m sorry to say I was just about as frustrated as I’ve ever been after I’d showed you about two-hundred times how to put on your underwear, and it just wasn’t clicking.  I was terrified realizing I could become the mom who yells at their kid when he can’t tie his shoes.

But tonight, when I came back into your room and snuggled in your bed, just to make sure you knew I wasn’t mad, you made the whole ridiculous day worthwhile:

“I love you, Dutch.”

“I love you too, Mommy!”

“I’m so proud of you, Dutch.”

“I’m so proud of you too, Mommy!”  and then you covered my face with a dozen of your best wet kisses.  That was the first time today that anything wet was a positive thing.

I love you to pieces, you remember that.  Even if you wear diapers for the rest of your life I’ll love you.  But, babe–you gotta help me out here.  You, me, that toilet. We’re gonna get this, alright?  We’re doing round two tomorrow.   And I’ve resolved not to cry. One of us has to be the grown-up. Deal?

See you in the morning,

mom