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My Daughter

 At long last, my daughter has learned to use the potty. The "therapeutic input" was sometimes questionable.


For example, the therapist suggested that my daughter would have just one or two accidents in her undies--and the drama and embarrassment would be enough to teach her, once and for all, that she needs to speak up if she feels a certain "itch." But the therapist doesn't actually know my daughter. Like her mommy, Susie really enjoys finding one spot and staying there. I myself will record my banking transactions with a broken crayon if it means I don't have to stand up and search for a different writing implement. Undie "accidents" really have not troubled my child.

Also, there is a power trip involved with the potty. To refuse to use the throne is to exercise a thrilling kind of control. Kids have so little autonomy, the rare sense of potty-related self-rule can be addictive. My daughter is especially excited to see my frustration in response to her own stubbornness. "I will NOT go pee pee," she says, and she gets a kind of Gloria Swanson sparkle in her eyes.

My response: "I'm not frustrated. I'm just bored. Because this stand-off is keeping us from all the other exciting things I have planned."

The speech--pure bullshit--is maybe forty-percent effective. Small victory.
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