The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Wipe or Not Wipe?
I hear her voice ringing clearly, stridently, as I bread chicken for dinner.
“Mommeeee, I need you. Now.”
There’s resignation in my voice, capitulation even, as I shout back, “What’s wrong? I’m making dinner, sweetie.” For I know full well what’s coming, but as I roll the chicken in bread crumbs, I silently pray that this time I’m wrong.
“Mommeee, please, I need you to wipe my butt.” There it is, the b word, winging its way down the hall to me.
Don’t get me wrong. I love me daughter. I just don’t want to wipe her butt anymore. She’s 6 and I feel it’s damn well time she wiped her own ass. I’ve done my time. I’ve earned it. But she doesn’t feel that way.
“It’s too hard, Mommee. It’s too hard and then I get poop on my hands.” She’s sitting on the toilet waiting for me. She turns her hands palm sides up to show me how the poop spreads everywhere. Then she smiles at me, leaps off the toilet into a perfect downward dog. It’s just the right position for me to provide maximum service.
I sigh and say to my young yogi, “You need to try. How will you ever learn unless you try?” No reply. I give up and submit, thinking we should get stock in diaper companies for she’s sure to be wearing them to college.
As I wash my hands, my daughter sidles up next to me and starts to wash her hands. She looks up at me and says, “You know Momma, I don’t go poo poo at school. I’m too scared.” I look down at her and say, “That’s okay. You save it up until you get home and I’ll help you.” She smiles and I go back into the kitchen.
But in the kitchen as I wash my hands one more time, I wonder, am I doing the right thing? Maybe I should be more forceful. Maybe I should let her sit there until she wipes. Maybe she will be the only one in her college class to wear a diaper.
I know she’s not the only one who gets her butt wiped. I’ve heard reports from other moms that their kids, too, want personalized service. So maybe there’ll be others wearing those diapers to calculus class. Maybe they’ll start a club?
Or maybe it’s just another way for my daughter to cling to babyhood for just a bit longer. Just a little more until the years start pulling us apart. And that’s why I do it, as much as I hate to admit it. I’m starting to miss the baby as the young lady she’s becoming starts to flower.
By Georgie Craig
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“Mommeeee, I need you. Now.”
There’s resignation in my voice, capitulation even, as I shout back, “What’s wrong? I’m making dinner, sweetie.” For I know full well what’s coming, but as I roll the chicken in bread crumbs, I silently pray that this time I’m wrong.
“Mommeee, please, I need you to wipe my butt.” There it is, the b word, winging its way down the hall to me.
Don’t get me wrong. I love me daughter. I just don’t want to wipe her butt anymore. She’s 6 and I feel it’s damn well time she wiped her own ass. I’ve done my time. I’ve earned it. But she doesn’t feel that way.
“It’s too hard, Mommee. It’s too hard and then I get poop on my hands.” She’s sitting on the toilet waiting for me. She turns her hands palm sides up to show me how the poop spreads everywhere. Then she smiles at me, leaps off the toilet into a perfect downward dog. It’s just the right position for me to provide maximum service.
I sigh and say to my young yogi, “You need to try. How will you ever learn unless you try?” No reply. I give up and submit, thinking we should get stock in diaper companies for she’s sure to be wearing them to college.
As I wash my hands, my daughter sidles up next to me and starts to wash her hands. She looks up at me and says, “You know Momma, I don’t go poo poo at school. I’m too scared.” I look down at her and say, “That’s okay. You save it up until you get home and I’ll help you.” She smiles and I go back into the kitchen.
But in the kitchen as I wash my hands one more time, I wonder, am I doing the right thing? Maybe I should be more forceful. Maybe I should let her sit there until she wipes. Maybe she will be the only one in her college class to wear a diaper.
I know she’s not the only one who gets her butt wiped. I’ve heard reports from other moms that their kids, too, want personalized service. So maybe there’ll be others wearing those diapers to calculus class. Maybe they’ll start a club?
Or maybe it’s just another way for my daughter to cling to babyhood for just a bit longer. Just a little more until the years start pulling us apart. And that’s why I do it, as much as I hate to admit it. I’m starting to miss the baby as the young lady she’s becoming starts to flower.
By Georgie Craig
Labels: Georgie Craig
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