And that’s fantastic! My youngest daughter is finally potty trained. We’ve been working on it for almost a year, but she decided she wanted to take her sweet time about it. And, unfortunately, this is one of those things you don’t want to rush. A power struggle over a toddler’s bowel control is a conflict no one needs.
Now we’re done though, so no more diapers, no more diaper changes, no diaper genie squatting ominously in the corner like a superfund site, no more oh-my-god-I-just-failed-my-san-roll-what-the-hell-did-you-eat moments in the middle of the night. This is a good thing.
I’ve spent a good chunk of the last nine years doing this diaper thing. That’s longer than I’ve been writing, and it’s probably taken more of my time. Does this mean I’ve got more time for writing now? Not really. The kids are getting older and more independent, and I’m spending a lot less time on the basics of keeping them alive. But now I’m busy trying to socialize the little maniacs.
That’s okay though. The kids may take a lot of time away from my writing, but I can honestly say that I don’t think I would be writing at all if we never had them. Plus there’s the whole loving them thing. I’ll keep squeezing the writing in around them, and try not to whine about it too much.
Except for right now. Because I have to finish this blog post and go up to the attic and organize the clothes that are too small for older daughter and too big for younger daughter. Piles and piles of them, in a million conflicting sizes. It’s an enormous pain in the ass.
So I’ll be throwing Nine Inch Nails on the I-Pod and sorting through tiny pants all day. Those revisions I need to do on my latest short story will come later.
If I don’t succumb to lint lung.