Potty Training

One of the unique things about being a parent is how you come to celebrate milestones that, were you not a parent, would never come into your field of vision. Such is potty training and the monumental development marker that accompanies the regular and uncoerced act of your child sitting on a miniature toilet and relieving themselves. While there is still sometime before little Kaia is making friends with his own porcelain throne, we can confidently mark the calendar today as the first day of the rest of his post-diaper life.

Since we moved into our new flat, Kaia has been spending most of his indoor time with a look that, at two years old, gets nothing but smiles, and at twenty years old, gets you on a website: t-shirt and no pants. In fact, I am a bit envious of him being able to run around with his naked bottom in this hot weather, and the way that he parades around, he knows it is a good time. The reason that we can afford to have this pooping and peeing machine cruise around ‘unprotected’ is that most homes here are wall-to-wall tile flooring, and clean up is very easy. We moved in the first of the month and the first two weeks have been, shall we say, messy...but no permanent mistakes.

For some time we have been traveling with a small plastic Baby Bjorn toilet, literally carrying with us the hope that Kaia would demonstrate his competence for controlled continence sooner than later. The little potty doesn’t exactly pack well, so it has been a bit of a hassle to lug over three countries, but after today it all seems worth it. Seeing the little guy interrupt his reading session, pause, stand, locate the potty, walk over and sit, all on his own, well, it can bring a little tear to your eye. Like I said before, only a parent could find emotion in watching your child relieve themselves.

The merriment afterwards may be part of the reason that, it seems, Kaia is pooping and peeing more than usual. Of course, how would we know when he is in diapers, but with each movement comes a wild celebration of hoots and smiles, and I can’t recall him ever appearing as proud of his work. He may go on to become a great artist or composer, but I don’t think he can ever match the pure joy that lifts him up from his tiptoes to floating in the air. Similarly, my own hugs and grins could hardly be more filled with pride.

Why I Love this Time: Climbing to the roof of our building to watch the sunset together and, while the sun descends into the Chennai pollution, he turns to look over the ocean and says, ‘papa, moon’.