SPIRITUALITY OF POTTY TRAINING
“Please pray for us— we’re potty training”
During a meeting with a young family who was supporting me as a missionary, I had asked them if they had any specific intentions for me to keep in prayer. A couple of giggling children ran past us, under and around their kitchen table as she thought for a moment and then said, actually, yes, and stated the above intention with a stone face. It seemed so mundane at the time and almost comical— I cringe to think back now at how I may have actually laughed out loud. But she was not laughing. And now, I understand! The world sees these sufferings as trivial, insignificant. But how blind we are! There are really no big things, just small things that add up to big things. And hopefully, just maybe we do them with love and somehow it is beautiful.
I read all the books. I had the right mindset. I was ready. March 2022. I was going to start early potty training with my 18 month old. Would it take longer than if I waited until age 2? Probably. Sure— maybe a couple of months even. It could take that long.
Instead of giving up chocolate for Lent or trying to force some huge penance into my life, I decided to embrace all of the sacrifice of motherhood and just do it. Making this my Lenten sacrifice would keep me in the right mindset of offering each day as it came, persevering with love, offering up struggles. My attitude would be the difference and I visualized the peaceful surrender I would have to greet each flow of pee hitting my floor. (Okay, maybe I skipped that visual.)
Through extensive research and obsession, I landed on a non-coercive early potty training that made sense to me. Rip off the bandaid for less confusion. Day 1, no more diapers. Ever. Except when sleeping. It wasn’t so much about if the child was ready, but if the parent was ready to put in the consistent work which would yield the sure result of a happy, independent toddler who was diaper free. Cue triumphant music playing over photo of me looking proudly into the air.
This was fine and good for a while. A week went by. My newly found, super efficient laundry routine that I had worked so hard to adopt was out the window, as load after load of urine soaked Paw Patrol undies went in for a pre-wash. The backyard was a minefield of random pieces of soiled clothing that had been sprayed off with the hose, drying on rocks or hanging over chairs.
Another day, another pair of pee pants. Or ten.
I kept my inner peace. It was going okay. This was to be expected. My 18 month old, though thoroughly a mama’s boy, was not the type to comply with many of my wishes, so I figured this was my best shot at hitting a window of least resistance. And he was progressing. The first day was almost humorous, as he would start to go and then look down in wonder, perplexed by what was happening. After moving him to the potty time after time after time, he began to put it together! Hooray, we were coming along! He could hold it during outings and would! He could sit and go when he meant to! Surely, we were nearly there.
Well, that was 6 months ago. In the mean time we have had ups and down, but currently in my line of sight is a basket of pee laundry. Several times today I tried to coax him to sit on the potty to no avail, and then he just peed on the floor after that on purpose. Sigh. He can do it when he wants to, but often at home he would rather gleefully assert his will against mine.
death by papercut is real suffering
I’ve wrestled with the spirituality of potty training. Lord, this sacrifice is yours, please take this and make it my prayer. Make my life fruitful for your glory. Let me do all things out of love. I offer this suffering to you, although it is very small compared to all who suffer in the world. The ‘suffering,’ of potty training does not seem to qualify to be worthy of the word. Really? Suffering? Suffering is the bone thin limbs and swollen belly of starving children. Suffering is your bare feet in the snow as you dig frozen tundra in a Russian gulag prison camp. (Looking at you, Walter Cizek!) It’s mental illness. Cancer. Miscarriage. Having to clean up a little pee? Not suffering.
There are two opposing camps to avoid when looking at the sufferings of motherhood— the first is to diminish them, neglecting to acknowledge one’s own experience of the ‘death by papercut,’ phenomenon, once described by a friend of mine. Sure, a papercut is not deadly, but do them time and time and time again and you know what? That is terrible. The second opposing camp is to simply fall into self-pity. Enter the wine o’clock culture. My days with my children are so horrible I have to escape immediately.
Neither of these have been helpful, although I do find the first is the more insidious. The accuser so easily keeps us from doing the one, seemingly obvious thing of reaching out to God in our need. Instead, he convinces us it really isn’t that bad. We shouldn’t be struggling. Just press on and ignore it. He takes the warm house, good food, healthy children and points them like arrows to accuse us of being entitled brats. “See, you have so much and you are complaining about this little thing? You’re pathetic. Your suffering is laughable.”
The Root of the Issue
Today as I prayed with Psalm 23, I rested in the knowledge that Christ, ‘refreshes my soul.’ I related that Lord, I really feel I need this right now— I am just so tired! I feel weary! And you know what, I am TIRED OF POTTY TRAINING! Take this penance away, now! I picked it up, but now cannot put it down! WHYYYYYY. I was honest that I am just sick of it, and you know what? I feel like a failure!
A funny thing happened. My heart was at rest. I felt immediately calmed and listened to. And this also led to a very helpful realization. I wasn’t sick of cleaning up pee. Well, I mean, it is never pleasant, but that wasn’t what was really bothering me. What was the pain point was the immediate feeling of failure that accompanied these accidents. The self-doubt, self-accusation, frustration of just not succeeding, which rides on the whims and fancies of a 2 year old, who let’s be honest, is WAY less invested in this process than I am. Once I realized this I was able to look at these situations differently— to accept that some amount of failure was sure to happen and to surrender to this, again letting go of the subtle lie that we so often fall into regarding our worth being tied up with being successful.
The Playful and creative spirit
I find the Holy Spirit is a creative spirit. When we surrender and make ourselves an offering, I find very often a new creativity accompanies me. Rather than being in a battle of wills, I was able to be lighthearted enough to play pretend that these froggies really had to potty. So, now, instead of Vincent having to potty, we hear a ribbit from the bathroom and run, quickly to go help the froggies potty. The first frog ‘pees,’ water that I have filled it with. Then, it is Vincent’s turn— ‘Hurry, Vincent, the froggy can’t wait much longer! Froggy, don’t pee in your pants! Hold it, froggy!’ (Vincent, similarly exhorts and encourages the froggy to hold it! Go on the potty, froggy!) After Vincent pees, then the second froggy is able to go, much to his relief. We both praise the frogs and say, ‘Good for you, froggies. You peed on the pot.’ It is a silly game of pretend that takes the focus off of our battle of wills, but a game that a person just can’t quite muster when bogged down in one’s self and trying to force a situation.
Clearly, these two frogs really REALLY have to pee.
I hope and pray that I can get out of my own way more often, not take myself so seriously or think that so much is at stake in accomplishing success in my own eyes. Success is so much deeper than what we see. Not perfection, but peace. Not things going all our way, but being joyful and steady in the face of all going the opposite. Allowing the circumstance we find ourselves in to prompt a cry to the God of Heaven, who always has grace aplenty. Allowing the Holy Spirit’s creative power to work and love through me.