Potty Talk

He called out in the night. I ignored him. He got louder. I elbowed Todd in the ribs, "Benjamin needs you." The whining got louder. He was clearly yelling, "Mommy!" I hauled my weary bones out of bed at 3:26 a.m. and trudged down the hall. Ben was sitting on the floor in the baby-gated doorway of his bedroom: "I need to go potty."

I'm thrilled our son is finally potty-trained. I'm happier still that he stays dry through naps and night, something that seems a rare feat among preschoolers these days. I wish I could trust him enough to give him free run of the house at night, so that when he wakes he could take care of his business by himself. But, he's a little unsteady with the hands and insists on dumping the potty chair himself. So, for the time being, I choose to get up with him in the night instead of risking stepping in pee puddles in the morning. As long as we restrict liquids before bedtime, he usually makes it all night. Just not last night.

I led Benjamin to the bathroom, sat him on the pot and perched on the edge of the bathtub. Ben needed to talk. I tried to hold the conversation, but soon gave up, closed my eyes, and just listened:
"Mom, how do they make bathtubs? How do they make socks? How did Daddy make these cabinets? I think I have to go poopy. I might have to poop, too. I'm going to try to get my poopy out. When I wake up in the morning, will it be tomorrow? Who are we going to play with tomorrow? I like your toilet. My butt fits on this toilet now. Benjamin's butt fits on this toilet. And Amanda's and Elisabeth's butts fit on this toilet. Your butt and Daddy's butt is too big. I'm done. Can I flush? I'll get my poopy out tomorrow. It's too hard. 'The Very Noisy Night' is my favorite book. Let's read that book in my bed. Will you cuddle with me?"