"I peed the bed until I was 16, and part of the reason for that was that if I couldn't fall asleep at night, my father used to make me go sit at the kitchen table so that I wouldn't keep on waking him up"
Here is an excerpt from Aunt Brie's blog from July 16, 2019:
Read Here For Tips on How To Do Potty Training in 3 Hours With No Accidents, Guaranteed, Promise
July 16, 2019
"The popular way to potty train in Brooklyn is something called the “oh shit” method or something. Basically, you take your children’s pants off, and stay in the house for three days. If God exists, and I go to hell, my hell will be having to stay confined in an 800-square-foot apartment for than 24 hours. So I knew that method wasn’t for me. Also, I don’t get how that works better than saying to your verbal almost-three-year-old, 'Pee on the toilet, and then we can go to the playground.'
What has potty training been like? It’s a lot like having an incontinent Yorkshire Terrier named Frankie, which is the Yorkshire Terrier I already have. Yesterday, I followed Cleo around the woodsy section of the local playground, scooping up little droplets of diarrhea that she released onto the bed of pine needles, any spots that I missed quickly uncovered by a swarm of flies, and I was like, 'This is basically what I do with Frankie every night at 7:15pm to get a little time to myself out of the house.' Cleo, for her part, is very comfortable in her own body, and had no problem squatting, full monty, in full sight of the street, while gripping onto the fence around the playground, until all of the poop was out. 'I’m pooping,' she told any friends who came near us. Maybe, in the future, she will develop major issues reading this blog post, who knows.
The other moms watched with open judgement on their faces from the safety of the pavement. I know I should have brought like one of those fancy portable potties, and made her sit on it, but I don’t give a shit. Literally. The nice thing about having a 'difficult' kid is that it’s inured me to judgment. Yeah, I’m letting my child shit like a Chinese peasant in an airport in Shenzen, but at least I won’t have to take her to a therapist for retaining her poop for weeks at a time. My strong ass kid is a pain in the ass, but she loves her body, and she’s not afraid of anything, not even what people might think of her if she’s being gross in open sight. Every parent has their strengths. I have a lot of weaknesses, but one of my strengths is that I don’t get that grossed out by bodily functions. Looking back, this strength served me. It probably served me during sexual encounters. It serves me every time one of my kids has diarrhea, which is a lot of times. It also served me when I used to babysit a congenitally disabled girl. She sometimes didn’t make it to the toilet. When she got a fever, I had to immediately give her shot of valium in her butt. I loved her, and I loved taking care of her. Yesterday, when Cleo was finished pooping, I just brought her over to the sprinklers, and washed her with my hands, and when I did that, another mother literally said to her daughter, 'Get away from them.'
Cleo will probably have accidents until she’s 16. I peed in the bed until I was 16, and part of the reason for that was that if I couldn’t fall asleep at night, my father used to make me go sit at the kitchen table so that I wouldn’t keep on waking him up. The difficult phases of motherhood, I’m finding, don’t end, they just get larger, and more gross, and more physical, and if you’re not into it, sucks for you, because unless you can find someone to adopt your child, you’re in it for life.
At night, when I’m going to bed, I frequently think of all of the ways my children will help me when I’m too old to take care of myself, and for that reason, I wish I could have more children, because two doesn’t seem like a home run in terms of being surrounded by love at the end of my life."
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