As I’ve mentioned in the past (possibly far too many times), I never intended to be a mother. I’ve never been overly fond of children and I had many insecurities that led me to strongly believe that I did not want this path.
I remember the exact moment it began to be an idea that might be ok. It was watching my friend give birth to her son. I remember seeing his little head and feeling that everything was changed.
Even then, I wasn’t convinced.
And when, a couple years later, we decided to give the kid malarkey a go, there was so much I was unprepared for.
This is all to say that I absolutely cannot believe (and cannot describe to you) how ridiculously proud I am of eden’s potty training journey. Of the first intentional wee in the potty. Of the first poo in the toilet. And now, of him having the potty in his room during naptime and using it.
I know, in my mind, that these achievements are neither groundbreaking nor particularly interesting to the outside world.
But the levels of my pride have never been before reached.
I like it. I like that these two funny (and often infuriating) beings have re-wired my sensibilities and emotions. Sure it means that I bawl idiotically at the least provocation and no longer can stomach the likes of Stanley Kubrick, but it means that despite my reservations, for better or for worse, I am a mother.
Among many other things.