On November 16, 1902, a political cartoon was released in the Washington Post featuring notorious big game hunter, President Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt and a black bear who’s life he had spared on a hunting expedition. Upon seeing the cartoon, candy shop owner Morris Mitchtom came up with an idea for a revolutionary new toy, a softer replacement to the traditional child’s doll. This toy was a plush, cloth covered, stuffed bear which was released in 1903 for sale and satirically referred to as a teddy bear. And so the stuffed animal industry was born.
For adults, stuffed animals are exchanged as symbols of love, celebration, and occasionally sympathy. For children, stuffed animals represent an altogether different thing. They are symbols of childhood and serve as companion guides, aiding in the navigation of some of a child’s most tumultuous years.
When the brunette was a baby, the mother bought her a stuffed gray elephant. Never in her wildest dreams did she think the brunette would bond with the elephant to such a heightened, irreplaceable level. Seemingly a silent member of the family, Mr. Elephant, ever in the room, has participated in many of the family’s adventures and this story is told from the perspective of the brunette’s beloved elephant.
The mother had decided it was time….time for the brunette and I to begin potty training. The mother had been talking about it for a week leading up to actually starting the process. I was skeptical but the brunette seemed to be excited by the prospect and so I would simply nod and smile when the girl enthusiastically shared the details……such as she knew them. Good animal companions always share in their children-owners fears and joys. One of the greatest frustrations faced by small children is the fact that big people do not always understand all the emotions their toddler charges are experiencing. That is why animal companions have such an important job….always in sync with our children…..we guide them through necessary milestones of development.
When it came to the matter of potty training, I wasn’t quite certain what it all meant, but the brunette and I had lengthy communications about the fact that the big event was indeed coming and how exciting it would be to get to wear the big girl underwear as a result of the process. I personally didn’t see what the allure about wearing cloth garments that, in spite of being magically character themed, would be completely hidden from sight by socially-deemed-necessary outer clothing. This reality did not seem to trouble the brunette.
The first morning was filled with excitement. I sat straight up in the bed as the mother entered our room and said, “are we going to go potty in the toilet…. like a big girl today?” “Yes!” the brunette cheered. I nodded agreeably. I wasn’t entirely certain how the mother was stirring up such an enthusiastic response towards an activity I personally felt a high level of skepticism towards. What was so special about relieving oneself in a toilet and more specifically growing up? Didn’t growing up and becoming this elusive big girl simply mean that the brunette would no longer need an elephant companion guide?
As the mother dressed the brunette that morning, it did not escape my notice that the little girl was extremely agreeable with all of the mother’s clothing suggestions. Of late, the brunette and I had been much more outspoken when it came to choosing her daily wardrobe. I almost wondered if she was deliberately disagreeable some days simply as a means of demonstrating her independence in the form of a tiny clothing revolt.
Whatever the reason for our new found clothing independence this summer, it could certainly be argued at the age of two and a half, there were very few things in the brunette’s day of which she was granted sole ownership. This reality of the mother’s veto power proved very frustrating to both myself and the brunette at times.
Somehow on this particular morning, I noted how the brunette relinquished her normal opinionated nature in an effort to please the mother. The little girl must clearly have been working under the influence of the wonderment surrounding the potty training adventure ahead.
After breakfast, the mother took the brunette and I into the bathroom. She had set out a variety of potty dispensing options for our convenience. Both a small floor based model as well as a commode topping edition. The mother presented them as two possible options for the brunette, but the little girl and I exchanged a knowing glance as she whispered, “you can use the little potty, Mr Elephant and I will use the big potty.” I nodded in agreement. The brunette was always concerned with my participation in any of our new milestones.
The mother seemed very attentive on this particular morning, never straying too far from myself and the brunette. We both rather enjoyed this extra measure of attention. The mother continued to ask us questions like, “now…where do we go potty?” and then she would pause, awaiting our answer. The little girl seemed thrilled by the new game, but I personally found it all a little tedious.
The brunette didn’t seem annoyed by the line of questioning and smiled as the mother repeated the same three leading questions, pausing each time for the brunette’s reply. “Do we potty in our pants?” the mother would ask. “No!!” the little girl replied. “Do we potty on the carpet?” the mother continued. “No!” the brunette stated shaking her head. “Do we potty in the bathroom?” the mother finished. “Yes! Yes!!” the brunette proclaimed, jumping up and down. Each time the mother would smile and say, “that’s right. Now you tell mommy if you need to go potty,” and then the mother would tip her head ever so slightly to the left, as if subconsciously gesturing with her whole body in the general direction of the bathroom. The brunette would quickly nod her head in agreement, but I for one was still waiting to see what this whole potty business was all about.
Sometime late morning, while the brunette and I found ourselves actively engaged in a riveting puzzle project, the brunette suddenly got a panicked look in her eyes and snapped her back upright, quickly hopping to her feet she proclaimed, “Oh no! My pants. My pants are wet!” The brunette looked to the mother, then to the floor, and then to me. I could not break my gaze from the now, bow legged little girl, clearly not pleased with the fact that her previously dry pants where now sticky and wet. I braced myself for the mother’s response.
The mother had a very clear list of dislikes that she would ask the children in the form of some kind of recitation game throughout a traditional day. The mother, I had noted was fond of offering instruction to the children in the form of repetitive questioning. The question the mother would ask the children, a handful of times each day was, “What makes mommy upset?” The blonde and the boy were always quick to reply, “making messes….and waking up the baby!” I had heard the mother, on more than one occasion jest with her friends, that in a home with so many small children every task was already exponentially more complex and thus any circumstance that unnecessarily made her job more difficult was simply not tolerated.
And so it was that the brunette, clearly now wet and in the throws of what could only be described as a full on mess, stood wide-eyed next to her puzzle. The mother’s reply was quite unexpected, “It’s okay. Accidents happen. Now you know what it feels like when you have to go potty. Next time we need to try harder and put our potty in the toilet.” My mouth had visibly fallen open. What was happening? It was almost as if the mother had expected the brunette to experience this failure.
The mother simply cleaned up the mess and placed the brunette into some fresh clothes. The mother then allowed us to return remarkably unchastised, considering the events of the previous four minutes, to our nearly completed puzzle. Not too long after, the mother went into the kitchen to retrieve her morning cup of coffee. During her absence the brunette and I decided to revisit the bathroom and take a second look at the newly added potty contraptions.
The brunette and I each took turns sitting on the little potty and after a few rounds, the brunette suggested we practice washing our hands. Stepping up onto a nearby stool, the little girl was able to turn on the water unassisted and things quickly began to spiral. Grabbing for a nearby cup, the brunette thought it would be a good idea to also practice dumping contents from little potty into the big potty, and so she took the half full glass and poured the tap water into the small potty. I did not think this was a good idea at all and watched with very wide eyes. Confidently, the brunette lifted the inner ring of the little toilet and swung the bowl towards the direction of the larger toilet. The swing itself was arguably too enthusiastic and some of the water escaped, sloshing onto the floor near where I was lying. Just then the mother yelled out, “honey, where are you?” The brunettes eyes widened, and quickly placed the bowl insert back into the smaller potty as she replied, “we are in the bathroom.”The brunette quickly reached for a towel in an effort to eliminate any signs of the sloshing incident. My eyes darted towards the bathroom door.
I could hear the mother’s footsteps coming towards us as the brunette attempted to wipe up the water on the floor. “Honey, we do not need to be playing in the bathroom. What are you doing in there?” the mother called from the far side of the kitchen. “Well….. Mr Elephant, go potty,” the brunette explained. I heard the mother’s steps grow closer as she made her way across the kitchen. “He went once in the potty but he also had one accident,” the brunette informed the mother through the wall. My eyes quickly darted towards the little girl. What was happening? Why was I suddenly getting blamed for what was clearly a game gone wrong. “Honey, Mr Elephant can’t go potty in the……….” the mother stopped as she crossed the threshold of the bathroom door. Her words simply suspended in air as her eyes fell onto the floor, where I lay next to a highly suspicious puddle of liquid.
I could see the mother’s mind was awhirl as she stood there in silence. Finally, the mother threw her head back and laughed. “Well….I would not have believed it if I had not seen it with my own eyes, but it appears you are right. Mr Elephant did seem to have an accident,” the mother said laughing. The mother cast a glance in my direction and said, “let’s try to do better next time Mr Elephant. Mommy doesn’t need to be cleaning up two people’s messes.” As the mother turned, ushering the brunette and I out of the bathroom, I heard her mumble, “well, if I had known I was also going to be potty training an elephant too, I might have asked for some pointers.” I was not amused.
As the day rolled on, the brunette did a remarkable job of going potty in the desired toilet. I made sure to remind her often so as not to find us in a repeat scenario where I might be falsely accused of any mess making. The mother was very proud of the brunette, cheering her on and rewarding her with each successful attempt, the brunette was able to place a toy cookie into a plastic cookie jar, which appeared to be some form of reward system.
That night as I lay next to the little girl and watched her sleep, I thought of how thrilling the events of the day had seemed to both her and the mother. I wondered about the relationship between a child and their parents. While I had observed the parents cheering and encouraging their children through each milestone, I for one was conflicted and saw it all as a little sad. Each step to me, felt less like an achievement and more like a separation.
Many stuffed animals sit as decorations in a child’s room, tokens of trips taken by their fathers, or mementos of vacations once enjoyed. These stuffed animals might well have the opportunity to experience more than one family’s world as they remain relatively untouched in their first home. However, for a stuffed animal who is granted the role of a companion guide, we are loved so deeply and live lives so fully that we are only granted a journey beside one special child before we simply come undone. If I was only going to have the opportunity to experience each joy, fear, and milestone once in my lifetime, I was glad that it would be alongside this very special little brown haired girl.
The Motherhood in Technicolor Memo: Potty training is a significant milestone for both toddlers and parents alike, and might be one of the first great breaks in the journey towards a child’s independence. The greatest reality in the raising of children, is that we are essentially teaching them all the skills necessary to no longer need us as parents. We give them all the tools for physical independence, emotional balance, mental development, social awareness, spiritual enhancement and then send them off into the world trusting our contribution makes an impact for the better. While it is easy to mourn the loss of our first role as nurturer-teacher, remember if you have invested well in your children they will one day return to you seeking the arguably more enjoyable relationship of mentor-friend.
Summer Smith is a speaker, writer, and motherhood blogger. She and her family are currently navigating the suburbs of Northern Virginia. As the mother to four young children, Summer maintains her sanity thanks to her sense of humor, copious amounts of coffee, and Amazon Prime. Maya Angelou once said, when reflecting on her childhood, that her mother left an impression like technicolor stars in the midnight sky. Influenced by these words, Summer blogs at her website Motherhood in Technicolor, and can also be found on her Motherhood in Technicolor Facebook page.