I have been pregnant for three years and breast-fed for six. I gained a total of one hundred seventy pounds of pregnancy weight. I have changed diapers every day for seventeen years. Last night Xander pooped in the toilet for the first time.
I suppose it’s natural to reminisce at the end of an era. I remember the smell of freshly washed cloth diapers. The constantly evolving disposable with the cloth-like cover and a myriad of cartoon characters printed on the waistband. Thousands or millions of wipes.
One afternoon when Xander was six, he kept taking off his diaper and going on the floor. I followed behind cleaning one mess to be surprised by yet another. I grabbed the duct tape from under the kitchen sink. He yelled in protest as I was psychotically pleased to have discovered yet another use for the stuff. Spencer watched me in silence for a moment.
“Mom. You’re scaring me.”
We laugh about it now. Frequently. I remember giggling a little then as I peeled the tape and diaper off Xander’s skinny little bottom.
Five years ago, a good part of my summer was spent locked in the downstairs bathroom with Xander. He sat for hours sipping Coke on the toilet until the inevitable elimination occurred. When it did, I handed him an Oreo. We stayed alone in that room for most of the week. Spencer and Eric handled the other layers of crazy on the other side of the door. Coke and Oreos. It was a brilliant idea and it worked. Except for the pooping. My brilliance has limits.
Last night he just did it. On his own. Goodbyes are notorious for being unplanned and unexpected. Occasionally it’s a good thing. Xander and I are ready for new adventures.