My Sensitive Boy

Tonight, as always, Toby didn’t want to get into the bath. Who can blame him? Every night, about an hour after he’s got us all together again, one of us has to interrupt his fun by announcing that it’s bath time. It’s a sure sign that the night is over and before you know it you’re going to be alone in your crib, waiting for the sun to rise so you can head off to daycare on your own again. Can you tell that we are knee deep in the midst of daycare guilt right now??

This time, however, the usual bath time temper tantrum was quickly followed by a novel diversion technique (implemented by Toby this time) that perhaps he wanted to pee on the potty. Rob and I always LEAP into action at the mention of “Pee! Toby! Potty!”

It seems our kid is always one step ahead of us.

He has yet to produce ANY semblance of urine on his much loved potty, but oh so enjoys the extra attention and the chance to sit naked on his very own urinal.

Realizing I’d been duped YET AGAIN into believing that I had given birth to a miraculous I-can-be-potty-trained-before-I’m-two-years-old child, I delved deep in the depths of my innovative brain to come up with an enticing transition from the non functioning potty to the inevitable bath.

“Toby!” I said in excitement, “Listen! I hear your doggies crying! They are sad because they MISS you and they are in the bath ALL ALONE”

Toby promptly let go of his beloved penis and put his hand to his ear (pretending to listen). He then LEAPED off his potty and RAN to the bathtub.

I AM A GENIUS.

That is. I THOUGHT I was a genius until I realized what EMOTIONAL TRAUMA I had just subjected my son to. Who knew he was so attuned to the emotional needs of his beloved bath doggies? Toby immediately picked up all THREE of his plastic bath doggies and HUGGED them and then proceeded to lament, “Doggy CRY…” in the saddest, brokenhearted voice I’ve heard him muster. (See video…) “Doggy SAAAAD…”

Rob and I tried our BEST to negate my emotionally destructive statement. We tired EVERYTHING; I HUGGED the dogs, I KISSED the dogs, I threw them up in the air in mock excitement; “Toby – Look! The dogs are HAPPY!” (Thank God our house isn’t bugged or we’d have people from both the dog rescue AND the insane asylum knocking at our doors)

He didn’t buy it.

About 15 minutes later when bath time was coming to a close and Toby was still going on about “doggy CRY” and “doggy sad” Rob tried a different technique.

“Toby,” he asked, “How do you know the doggies are sad?”

“Mommmy…” he cried, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction.

“But mommy says the dogs are HAPPY now! Do you think the dogs are happy?”

Toby thought about this for a minute and shook his head, “Doggy sad. Tuck tuck, doggy.”

And so we put his little washcloth over the three sad little doggies and tucked them into bed on the side of the bath tub. I then took my tired, emotionally drained little guy into the comfort of his bedroom and put HIM to bed. It’s all a learning curve, this motherhood thing. I think I’ll do it differently tomorrow night.