A Day of Thanksgiving: Day 6 {For The Slightest Progress}

First attempt: January 2013

Pigeon was potty training. Again. He didn't seem to care much about it, or about the puddles he left in his wake. Mother could think of nothing else from the moment she put the cloth pants on him to the moment she gave in to a diaper for bed.

(They had tried the no-pants-at-all method. Mother just wasn't built for that.)

It felt like they might be stuck in the cycle of preoccupation and frustration forever. Pigeon ignored the bribes rewards, shrugged at the praise, was uncowed by Mother's meltdowns at the mess. After a day of battling his nonchalance with ineffectual nerves, she'd hide her relief and slip a diaper on him for bedtime. She could see him again, then--not just his puffy training pants and the drips--and relax enough for a sweet cuddle before saying goodnight.

One night while she and Father were putting Pigeon to bed, thoughts about giving up--putting it off for another week, or two, or a month--tiptoed into her head as she let herself enjoy her boy for a few clean, dry minutes. Kiss, Mama? he said, tilting his chin up towards her face. Daddy, hug?
But as her resignation trickled in, Pigeon looked up from his pillow, wide-eyed. Potty, 'morrow? he said, with a nod. Sticker? Treat?

Mother was thankful and very surprised; maybe Pigeon wasn't so indifferent, after all. Maybe he just needed a little time. If he was game, she must be, too.  And so they'd try, and try again.