Yesterday, our soon to be three-year-old grandson, Gabe, came to spend the day. He had been miserably ill the day before, was feeling a little better, but it in spite of his sickly appearance he brought a measurable amount of cheer into our home.
Gabe is a sweet little boy with sincere heart warming smiles that prevailed throughout the day, masking how poorly he must be feeling. He seldom demands much attention, is capable of entertaining himself and learns along the way.
His speech is rapidly improving along with his communication skills, and although he could very easily have told us how bad he felt or what part of him hurt, he was more prone to say things like: “Be careful Grammy!” as he escorted her down the steps from the upstairs playroom, or later cautioned me to “Be gentle pa-pa” as I carried the toy parking garage down those same steps.
I would soon learn that he was also making progress in another important part of his development, when later that morning he told us that he wanted to pee in the toilet. We were both slightly taken aback by both the clarity and the need of his request: “I want to pee in the toilet!”
Claudia rolled her eyes at me and clearly communicated that I would be the one to assist this little guy on this next important step forward in his development – learning to hit the bowl.
Sensing that this might be somewhat urgent, I nervously fumbled with the little straps on Gabe’s diaper and removed it, placed our little Elmo step stool in front of the toilet, had him step up to take aim – “No!” he exclaimed. He promptly turned and dropped his little bum on the seat. I should have known better. Based on prior experience with his two elder male cousins, I should have started with the sitting position. I’m not sure why these little guys have been intimidated by the forward standing position. I can only surmise that standing before such an abyss raises a fear of falling or being sucked into it, or maybe they just need a little more time to think things through before really taking aim and hitting the bowl on the first attempt at standing.
And then we waited. Gabe kicked his little feet, he smiled, he searched the bathroom with his eyes, pulled off some toilet paper and dabbed his little snotty nose, kicked his feet some more … The smile concerned me, it was a little devious. I felt like I was being challenged. I was beginning to think that he was holding back, would tell me that he was finished, and promptly let go after I had put a fresh diaper back on him. I turned on the water thinking that might help move things a little – “No!” he exclaimed, “Turn it off!”
More waiting, more kicking of feet, more smiling; then a much bigger smile, a soft sound of tinkling, a little quiver that signaled success. We moved the Elmo step stool in front of the sink, I showed him how to wash his little hands, and then we high-fived in celebration.
Both of us were feeling quite accomplished, and as we exited the bathroom, Gabe turned and said, “I like you pa-pa!”
Grampy Lash 