(part of the strip "The Dead Raccoon", Calvin and Hobbes)


From the moment I came to know I was going to be a mommy, I made a happy collage in my mind of me as the Model Parent. The One with dollops of patience, a smiling face at all times, ready with a hug and cuddle forever. The One to whom all answers are beamed straight from the heavens above (instantly, I might add) and who knows how to churn out babies who would go on to become model world citizens. In my mind, the parent handbook was all sorted and set. What digression could a baby cause? Bah, humbug! 


The mother (or father, but I am biased towards the mommy, since well, I am one) who knows how to fix it all is probably the biggest myth of childhood, though the happiest one by far. As we switch roles to become parents ourselves, we realise how far from that image parenting really is - how many times we falter, mess up, doubt ourselves and feel lost trying to get it right. 


There have been times, especially in the recent past, when I have found myself feeling at my wits' end trying to do the 'right thing'. So many times I've seen parenting theories - my own and acquired - turned on their heads by R, and thought, 'This is not how its supposed to go!' Try as I might, I have not been able to stick to the image of The Calm One. Deep breath, count, let it go. It's not as bad as it looks. You think?! 


The most frustrating of them all has been the recent potty training regression trauma. To me, being potty trained was a step into 'big boy-hood', a rite of passage. And though I am not overly superstitious, I did not speak of how my efforts in the training direction had (finally) paid off merely months ago, for fear of jinxing it. Together R and I had reached the point where we would soon be free of diapers even at nighttime! Nothing was as joyous (call me disgusting if you will) as R's announcement to the world 'Potty!' and the subsequent rush to the potty seat. I sang to myself every time we were done and R chimed 'finished!'. I should have known that with me, as with R, Murphy is always watching!


So when about a month ago R joined school after a 2 month long vacay, it was the beginning of the unraveling. The first week went by with no incident. With the second week, reports of the odd accident at school started coming in, though he seemed pretty much ok at home. It all disintegrated after that, the accidents started becoming commonplace even at home. I tried my best to keep calm, not make a fuss about the wet puddle - or worse. Googled 'potty regression', got much-needed solace from Tee about how common it was. But it affected me more than I could imagine. For some reason, even his lack of adequate speech never bothered me the way this did. He could not unlearn this, for sure!


I thought hard about what the probable cause could be - and could only come up with the school start as a possibility. I tried to get the school staff to help him by asking him every once in while, checking if the toilets were bothering him since he was using the 'big boy seat' at home. But it helped none. I got back to the basics, and take my word for it, revisiting that is the least fun of all. I had to stalk the tyke to catch any signs of needing to go, because like milk boiling over, he had developed the knack to go in his pants the moment I was away! 


I cried to myself trying to get a fix-it, and though the advice pages ask you not to lecture or make a big deal, I could not stop myself. The funniest bit was, he could not care less. His expression wasn't too remorseful, though he did come to me once the deed was done. Big boys do it on the potty? What's that got to do with me? You'll be happy if I inform you when I have to go? What good is it to me? I was a 'good boy', well, I'm on a break!


One particularly messy incident was the final straw for me. While cleaning up, I finally broke down sitting right there, next to him on the bathroom floor, and sobbed. Why do you do this, I asked? Didn't I deserve better? No answer of course. Not knowing how to deal with this hysterical mommy, his tiny little face puckered in a frown. A couple of minutes later, R got off his stool, patted my cheek, looked into my eyes and said, "Aai, happy!".  In that moment, I knew it would all be fine, soon, someday. Yes, he would mess with my plans, and yes, he would make me tear my hair out. But somehow, we would find a way out of these messes, and still love each other enough.


While the mommy is supposed to fix the boo-hoos, my little one kissed mine away. 

p.s. - Jinx or not, am glad to share that slooowly but surely, we're getting back on track by trying to be consistent and creative (bribes and over-the-top praise included). I am learning to be The One with dollops of patience and he is learning to be, well, himself.