ninanevermore

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about my conversation with my cousin in Tennessee, Leslie, last night. All of my conversations with Leslie give me something to think about for days afterward, and this one was no exception. Leslie – family rebel, aging flower child, ex biker chick, and a formerly certified alcohol and drug abuse counselor who has rediscovered the pleasures of drinking and smoking even as a mailing center in Colorado prepares to send out her AARP membership card – has a way of putting a different perspective on things than I ever would have come up with on my own. Last night she passed on some tips on raising a toddler.

"So, how's that baby? How's toilet training going?" she asked.

I explained that it was going nowhere, on account of the fact that every time anyone even tries to make my son sit on a potty, he cries and runs away from it. He likes diapers. They are convenient.

"Well don't force the issue," she said, "that can cause all kinds of problems. At least, that's what I've read."

I told her I've read the same things. My son and I are at an impasse on the issue.

"You know what I did with Cameron, don't you? I trained him to change his own diapers. Really. Remember, I was a young mother, and I smoked a lot of pot back then. A lot. What? Why are you laughing? It was the 70's! Anyway, I reached a point where I told him, 'Look, I been changing your diaper for a year and a half now. I want you to do it from now on.' So I'd take out one of them disposables diapers and lay it out on the shag carpet – it was the 70's, after all – and he'd lay down on top of it and wrap it around himself and push the little tabs down, and he was good to go.

"He did that for a couple months, too, until the day my Mama saw it happen. She was horrified. 'Let me keep that baby for one week and I'll have him potty trained,' she said, so I'm like, okay, fine, take him. And girl, I don't what she did, but she brought him back 5 days later and let me tell you, he was good as gold. He was wearing those little boy underpants and he never had an accident after that, not even at night. I didn't ask her what she did to him, and he never said a word about it, either. I guess I should feel guilty, but I was just so happy not to have to mess with it."

I asked if she thought her mother might be up to taking care of my son for a week.

"Well, she's 77 now. And she's crazy, don't forget that."

I reminded her that her mother was crazy back then, too, and that every last member of our family is crazy. Having been raised around crazy, it doesn't bother me like it does other people. Crazy or not, her mom obviously has the magic touch.

"Aw, don't worry about it. He's not going to still be wearing diapers when he reaches kindergarten. He just wants to be in control and do things on his own schedule. That's going to take him far in life. Well, it should. I mean, it didn't take me far, but I'm the exception. The kids that are control freaks are the ones who are harder to train in everything. He's going to turn out all right."

I'll take her word on this. Who can argue with the wisdom of a person who can train a baby to change his own diaper?

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