To Potty Train A Parent

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It is NEVER a good idea to offer unsolicited potty training advice, especially when your audience is a mother strung out from a long night with a breastmilk addict.

One “sage advice” drive-by at our local grocery store comes to mind. I was staring off into space in the dairy aisle when an older gentleman made his presence known. At least the encounter began friendly.

“How old is your son?”

With these kinds of questions, the response goes one of two ways…

“Nine months.”

I remember readying myself for his next move. Senior citizens love touching babies.

“Wow, nine months! That was the age that I potty trained my son!”

[Insert polite head nods and a weak smile here.]

I remember parting amicably after he began to discuss that same son’s “issues” in adulthood.

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A Glowing Reminder

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You are never too old to wear glow sticks.

It is 10 p.m. on a Saturday night, and I am celebrating a friend’s birthday at the local bowling alley. I suppose this is what you do when you are 30 – you chuckle in the bathroom mirror at yourself for wearing a neon pink bracelet to feel young. The fact that I will be out until 11 suggests that it may be working…

Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by an infant’s incessant tears.  The heightened anxiety behind the wailing is only countered with the wrath of the mother in the last stall attempting to change her distressed offspring’s diaper. She rebukes her child loudly and without forgiveness.

I am at a loss for words and, without realizing it, my hands drip dry. The beratement ends. Mercy.

I offer a prayer of thanksgiving for the dreams of two children sleeping sweetly at home.

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