Babymaxxxing

or, "Oh Crap!" You're full of shit!

“i’m happy on the potty, i’m happy on the potty, everything is a-ok i’m happy on the potty”

When I was pregnant I thought I could learn how to be a mother ahead of time. Yes, yes, this is ridiculous. But in my defense, there were many classes offered on this topic. I just made the mistake of thinking they would work.

Take, for example, the Zoom breastfeeding class offered by my delivering hospital. What did I think I would gain from this? The ability to breastfeed. What did I actually gain from this? The idea that if I couldn’t breastfeed, my kid was absolutely fucked. That, and that deer milk is amazing.

When we logged on, I was breastfeeding-curious, essentially ambivalent. It wasn’t until after I gave birth and every cell in my body screamed to nurse that I really felt I had to. But if I hadn’t already read up on the subject (thank you, Emily Oster), I would’ve walked away from that Zoom thinking formula was not an option. But that deer milk might be.

Because the first half of the class was just about why breastfeeding is good. It seemed like time wasted. This was a Sunday morning Zoom breastfeeding class, so presumably we were all here to, ya know, breastfeed. The pro-boob propaganda started out with a chart that depicted fat and protein content of various mammals’ milk. Humans, really low on both compared to other animals. Deer? Incredible. High fat, high protein. That milk is thick. Okay, so now I know that forever.

The teacher then moved on from extolling on the virtues of deer milk to opine about the benefits of human breastfeeding. None of what she said was supported by fact, but all of it was delivered as such. “Breastfeeding could be the difference between your kid going to college or not. Between being able to live on their own or not.” This is NOT TRUE. Michelle Obama is a formula baby.

By the time we got to the actual information on feeding one’s child, we were all terrified we wouldn’t be able to do it. The teacher did not explain that many of us wouldn’t be able to do it in this particular way and that this was utterly fine.

I was reminded of this, and the other pre-birth parenting classes I took, when I attempted to potty train Billie using the current favored method detailed in “Oh Crap!” by Jamie Glowacki. If you have not had the pleasure of reading '“Oh Crap!” you may know this method as “The Weekend.”

The Weekend is not a weekend. The Weekend is a long weekend, ideally more than that, and as it turns out, that is usually not enough time to even complete phase one of the program. During The Weekend (in our case six days, plus an additional six weeks and counting), your child is to go naked. When they start to pee or poop, you rush them to the potty and this somehow trains them to do it themselves.

different guy

Like the Zoom breastfeeding instructor, Glowacki spends the first third of the book telling you why you should use her method. You, who presumably bought this book or checked it out from the library or had it pressed on you by one of the cool neighborhood moms. In my case, the latter two. Not only that, she details all the things you might have previously tried, and why it’s bad that you tried them, then offers no solutions if you did try them, which we of course did. Glowacki requires a child of 20-30 months (NO LATER!!!!!) who has never even seen a potty prior to the weekend. Glowacki is dreaming.

Once I finally got into the methodology, it was dispiritingly vague. I’m supposed to prompt, but not too much. I’m not supposed to ask if she wants to go, I’m supposed to tell her it’s time. Oh but don’t force her! Tucked in parentheses in section three, ostensibly troubleshooting, is the acknowledgement of how many different forms this method can take and oh yeah it’s never just a weekend but also don’t spend too long in any one phase.

Twenty-one percent into the audiobook, Glowacki mentions fathers for the first time. Specifically, she suggests you tell the father of your child when you are potty training, ideally when he is in a good mood, like after sex. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this potty was a portal to 1957.

Glowacki’s method works for a lot of people, including the cool neighborhood mom who gave it to me. And that’s awesome! She’s helped a lot of parents. But I was under the impression this was THEE method.

This isn’t Glowacki’s fault. It’s mine.

And society’s.

Okay so let’s just blame society.

The pervasive culture tells us there is one way our child is supposed to be, on one timeline, via one method. Even, perhaps especially, the crunchy earth mamas do it. Funny how so many seem to follow their individual guts to the same breastfeeding, co-sleeping, home-birthing place. There are different strands of thought, but within each one, there is a strict set of standards.

I’ve gotten better at avoiding the capitalist instinct to buy whatever the other parents say I NEED, to beat myself up if I do things differently. But here I failed myself. I did not consider the kids I knew who potty trained without The Weekend, or the one parent I know who admitted it failed her (I know there are more of us out there). I did not consider how my independent daughter who is way too busy for cuddles might bristle at being carried to the potty with no say in the matter.

And I did not consider diet culture.

But as I read on in the book, and gritted my teeth through The Weekend, my daughter crying like she was a newborn again, it dawned on me. I’d heard this schtick before, the gist of which is, “if it doesn’t work, it’s because you are doing it wrong.” I’d heard it even before the Zoom breastfeeding class.

I’d heard it about every diet and exercise regimen I’ve ever tried. Do some of them work for me? Sure, in the broader health sense! But there are plenty—lifting heavy, cutting carbs— that just make me exhausted. In that sense, they don’t work for me, no matter what the scale says. That’s not because I’m not trying hard enough. It’s because I have to use my own brain (impossible without carbs) to figure out what’s best for me. I have to let go of the idea of universal standards, as well as the idea of universal methods to achieve those standards. I have my own unique body.

So does my daughter. And in trying to muscle our way through “Oh, Crap!” I forgot that.

The one thing every diet has in common is that the dieter is blamed for its failure when it inevitably doesn’t work. This must be so, because if it were the diet’s fault, then there would be nothing more to sell.

A lot of the rhetoric around sleep, potty training, breastfeeding and other childrearing topics makes me feel bad in the same way diet culture does. And making my daughter feel bad in that way is something I want even less than another shit on the floor.

So where did we land with this? Did I pump the brakes when I realized I was unwittingly babymaxxxing? No, but I did give myself, and Billie, more grace. We’re in it now. The Weekend has become over a month. It feels too late to change course. Is this me refusing to admit I’m wrong? Maybe. But Billie does show signs of getting it. So we’ll just power (and bleach spray) through. No one said this would be easy. Actually, a few people did. Good for them. Sleeping through the night came easy for us, so I guess everyone gets one free space on the baby bingo card.

But for future milestones, I’ll go back to a more relaxed approach. Relaxed for me, a type A nerd with a husband addicted to research. Or at least look before I leap into what “everyone” is doing. Otherwise I run the risk of discovering too late Oster’s survey that reveals potty training after 30 months takes less time, the opposite of what Glowacki says. Or I could just stop trying to google my baby.

Oh God. Were the crunchy mamas right all along? Do I have to trust my gut?!