I think it finally dawned on me, tonight, that God must have created Toddler Ballet Class as a way to specifically try a mother’s (or a father’s) patience and test the very limits of their tolerance in regards to potty breaks. Oh these little ones look so damn cute tip-toeing around in their inhumanly tiny ballet slippers and prancing back and forth in the studio wearing the cutest mini dance outfits you’ve ever seen. But somewhere between the first “I have to go potty!” and the fifth “Need to pee, need to pee!” all aforementioned cuteness wears off and you are left with something intensely frustrating at best and fully loathsome at worst.
First of all, under normal circumstances, my child must remove ALL clothing from the waist down to use a public bathroom. That means shoes (boots), socks, pants and underwear ALL must come completely off in order to pee. God forbid one is too restricted to completely (c.o.m.p.l.e.t.e.l.y.) spread ’em (sorry Dad and Brandon) to pee in those giant,
adult monster sized toilets. And incase you don’t have one at the moment, toddlers pee ALOT- all the time, everywhere they go. I know now to grab a few sheets of paper towel on my way in to line the floor for our impending strip down. Wouldn’t want our actual skin touching the actual floor- no-sir-ee.
So now picture Dance class. I have Grace on my hip, and I hear the dreaded door creek as Miss Erin peeks her head out to announce, “Lizzy has to go potty!” and then “Anna has to go potty! Leah has to go potty! Gloria has to go potty!” (hold my breath, hold my breath) “Abby has to go potty!” (phew) Oh no wait, “LILLY HAS TO GO POTTY!”
Hmmmm. Lilly do you really need to go potty?
Yes, Mommy, gotta pee, gotta pee!
Are you sure?
Lilly Christine do you really need to use the bathroom right now?
Yes! YES! YES, MOM!
—-wait in line for five other toddlers to do the potty dance—-
And then it’s our turn. So the three of us head in time after time and I remove the sweater. Then I remove the ballet slippers. Then I remove the leg warmers. Then I remove the skirt. Then I remove the leotard. Then I remove the tights. And finally the undies come off and guess what? She doesn’t really have to go potty. Just thought she had to go potty. So we (group effort now because Lilly is a BIG girl and big girl’s dress themselves) put the undies back on. Then we put the tights back on. Then we put the leotard back on. Then we put the skirt back on. Then we put leg warmers back on. Then we put the sweater back on. And finally we put the slippers back on. And I’ll be DAMNED if that kid, my kid, comes BACK OUT to use the potty again.
Oh and p.s. yes, I am holding Gracie the entire time- god forbid that little girl touch the floor. Don’t ask me how it’s done. I have no secrets. Precarious man-handling of the baby is definitely involved.
Granted, this struggle ended for us about three weeks in. I busted out my Mean Mom alter ego (yes, she exists in all of us) and told Lilly to FOCUS (she thinks this is a bad word for some unknown ridiculous reason) and to understand that she must wait to use the bathroom until Dance Class is over. No matter what any other little girl says to Miss Erin, Miss Lilly- so help me God- is absolutely, positively, 100% NOT ALLOWED to use the potty. She may go before. She may go after. She may notevernevernever go in the middle. It’s a good thing she’s scared of Mean Mom because she has definitely listened.
I still sit in the studio, though, every Monday evening, and I watch and sympathize as the door creaks open and the potty train participants are announced. I cringe and smile and nod, and then I high five Grace that it’s not our girl this time.
Our girl must be holdin’ it in. Cross those legs baby cakes and dance.
I squeezed those two baby faces into Lilly’s bottom bunk tonight. Squeezed as much as you need to squeeze a pint size 1 year old into a regular size bed… But anywho, Grace settles into sister’s pillow like we’re about to watch the opera (which is hysterical), nice and still and alert, and I performed my best Pink Puppy Wants To Play night-night show that could probably win me an Oscar. Both girls laugh on cue and enjoy the tickles and the voices and the completely mellow-dramtic theatrics that I excitedly (and loudly) produce each night in hopes of settling my girls off into dreamland (???). No quiet stories for us. And I’m not sure what makes me think dreamland requires Oscar worthy, extra loud performances, but such is our routine and so it shall remain.
I love those two little girls- those two little souls who are 1 and 2 for the littlest of whiles. I don’t know why, but I’ve always loved when my older brother and I are similarly only a numeral apart- we’ll be 25 and 26 in between April and October this year and I’m already looking forward to it. In the same regard, I am totally loving my 1 and 2 year olds this week. For four more days I will thoroughly enjoy their mutual littleness before I finally cave in and let Lilly turn three (she’s already looking forward to turning FOUR by the way which she tells anyone and everyone who will listen).
So that is all for tonight. I’m finishing such a rare and perfect glass of wine, casually considering tidying up the house without any real commitments to fulfill, and definitely weighing birthday dessert options over and over in my mind. Neopolitan cake shots (like shots of DESSERT not dessert flavored SHOTS) are winning.
P.P.S. (Am I at the second P yet?) We finally ordered and received the most adorable pilot hats to put on Grace when her hearing aids are in. Not only will she be sporting a new do, but she won’t be able to pull out her hearing helpers any more. Bwahaha. I feel like the evil queen. We’ll get there. If it takes duct taping her hands to her sides, we’ll get there.
(((Happy Bachelor watching?? )))
Random asides: 1- Lilly’s been running around screaming, “BOOBIES BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBIES!” for the past week. Because she has also been conjoined to her ghost stuffed animal, seen in her left arm above, whose name shifts between Boo and Ghostly, we are not concerned. 2- VICKS VAPOR RUB is curing our girl’s horrific eczema. Parents who are struggling with this: try the Vicks. Great Grandma B swears by it and ya know what? Grandma’s are the bomb because that shit seriously worked.