...On The Floor

I had one of those I'm the worst mom ever moments today.

It's similar to a moment I had around the time Logan was 9 months old and I was trying to transition him from bottle to sippy cup (a process which I completed a whopping six weeks ago...don't judge my parenting). I accidentally forgot to put the little plug thingy, which ONLY allows him to drink if he sucks on the sippy spout, into the top of the cup, and that meant that when he tipped the cup up to his mouth, the juice in it just trickled into his gaping pie hole without him having to work at it. He was thrilled.

Quickly I realized my terrible parenting misstep and freaked out and went charging across the room at him in slow-motion, screaming, "Noooo!" (but it was all low-pitched and dramatic and I was running like Pam Anderson in Baywatch. Was that too far? Yeah, I thought so too.) I snatched the cup away from him, crammed the plug in the lid, handed it back to him, and held my breath...and he couldn't figure the cup out.

All I could think was Oh my gosh my child is never ever going to learn how to suck juice from his sippy cup and he's going to go to kindergarten with a bottle in his lunchbox and all the kids are going to pick on him and call him a baby and he's going to drop out of school at 13 and run away from home and get addicted to crack and meth and painkillers and he's going to rob banks and become a murderer and I RUINED MY BABYYYYY *insert sobbing*

Of course, about 2 weeks later, he was gunning around the apartment sucking down juice like he was about to cross the Sahara. I guess we dodged the middle school dropout/drug addict/murderer/bank robber bullet THAT time.

But then there was today's moment.

I came home from work (I'm filling in at my old job in the Springs for 3 days) today and Logan was running around in his wet bathing suit (he'd been in the kiddie pool on the deck). My mom saw him grabbing his "boy parts" and asked if he needed to go potty. He said, "Pee-pee," and ran toward the bathroom. She put him on the potty and he didn't go, so she put his trunks back on and he came trotting back out to me, grinning like crazy. A few minutes later, he did the same dance with me, and I asked if he needed to "Pee-pee? Poop? Potty?" not sure which one he'd recognize most.

"Pee-pee!" he screeches and hauls tail back to the bathroom. I strip off his clingy trunks and perch his cute little hiney on the big-person toilet seat (no baby seat yet...again, don't judge) and say "Go pee-pee!"

After a few moments of him sitting...then fidgeting...then fussing, I let him scoot himself off the toilet seat and rationalize, Okay, if he had to pee, he would have gone, right? Like...his thingy has been exposed for long enough that he would have gone already, right? (shut up, I didn't say it was a good rationalization) and I let him take off, bare-cheeked, into the living room.

After about 90 seconds, he screeches, "Pot!" ("potty") again, and takes off for the bathroom. I trail behind by maybe eight seconds because I figure (see earlier rationalization) he's just trying to open the toilet lid and drop something worthless (like my bra or my car keys) in the water. The kid cannot resist water, and above all, potty water. I don't get it.

I arrive at the bathroom door to see my child standing in a puddle of his own urine, all smiles. "PEE-PEE!!"

...and here's where I win the Worst Mother of the Year award...

My first reaction is "Uggggghhhh, Logan, seriously?! On the floor?!" which startled him.

Frack. Frack frack frack.

See, he'd been telling me THE WHOLE TIME that he had to pee. He KNEW he had to pee (and almost-seventeen-months is on the earlier side for that knowledge). So he kept going to the bathroom because, here's the best part, my son is smart enough to have figured out that that is the room in which you make pee-pee. And I just used my "I'm so tired of your tomfoolery" voice with him.

Frack.

Of course, similar to the Sippy Cup Incident of 2010, I realized .2532 milliseconds after I said it that I TOTALLY SHOULD HAVE JUST PRAISED THE FREAKING CRAP OUT OF HIM FOR BEING (almost) 17 MONTHS OLD AND KNOWING THAT THE BATHROOM IS FOR GOING PEE-PEE, KNOWING HE HAD TO GO PEE-PEE, AND PUTTING THE TWO TOGETHER AND MAKING IT TO THE BATHROOM.

Frack frack frack FRACK.

So then I start into this ridiculous over-compensatory, high-pitched whine, praising and praising and praising him for his feat.

Me [an octave below that range of sound only dogs can hear]: OH MY GOSH BUDDY YOU WENT PEE-PEE IN THE BATHROOM YAYYYYY *claps like an idiot* I'M SO PROUD OF YOU I'M SO PROUD OF YOU YOU'RE THE AWESOMEST KID EVERRRR!!!

Logan: *confused stare*

Yeah so...my kid's going to wet the bed until he's 12 and need a lifetime of counseling, probably. Hopefully no murders, though.