The best tears

It was nearly 9:30 in the evening (past my own bedtime) and I was doing Adele's bedtime routine because Sean was at a work function. I was sitting on the floor of my bathroom, Adele sitting on the toilet, her tiny toes propped on her Minnie Mouse stool, sitting comfortably, quietly, not all at tired. This was her fourth time on the toilet that night during the bedtime routine. Fourth time.

Now, I'm not complaining. Potty training is going very well and Adele tells us when she needs to use the potty, and 90 percent of the time something comes out, even if just a toot.

Well last night, each time we got snuggled comfortably in my bed (before transferring her to her crib) with her special blanket, dolly and the new mermaid "Barbie" we just got that day from the Dollar Store ...

"Mommy, I'm poopy," Adele would say.

Me: you need to use the potty?

Adele: Yes.

Me: Are you sure? (You've just been three times)

I can't remember which two out of the final four times she went, but she did: one pee and one poop. Which, for potty training, is fantastic. Fantastic. But just because we have success in child-rearing doesn't mean we aren't allowed to feel frustration at times. 

But that fourth time I was tired. I was losing my patience. I had been "Mom"-ing since 6 a.m. that morning, like most moms do. Normally this was my time to relax, as Sean usually does bedtime. But I was tired. Stressed. And here we were, on the toilet again, which meant after she was done, there was the wiping, the putting down of the toilet seat, the flushing, the putting on a new diaper, the pulling on the pajama pants, the moving of the stool so Adele could reach the sink, the pumping of the soap, the scrubbing of the hands, the drying of the hands, the fighting about what comes next or who goes where or what goes where. So I started to cry. Right there, during Adele's fourth time on the potty. 

Adele asks, "Mommy, are you sad?" With all sincerity and curiosity. 

I smiled through my tears, remembering what I said next had to be truthful, but also make her feel safe. 

I told her I was tired and that sometimes Mommy cries when she gets tired. I asked her if she ever cries when she gets tired, to which she shook her head "No." And then I told her Mommy is crying also because she's also so happy that little Adele is using the potty like a big girl.

The tears, the little toes on the stool. The motherhood. Me sitting on the bathroom floor. Wiping tushies. Making sure paci doesn't fall into the toilet. Making sure child doesn't fall into the toilet. More wiping tushies. Making sure child's hand doesn't get slammed in the toilet lid. Maneuvering a 30-pound 2-year-old with a mind and agenda of her own, around the bathroom late at night when I've been up since my 6 a.m. coffee and all I want to do is lie silently for a few hours. 

I remember those tears. Whatever they are: happy, sad, tired, stressed.

They are the best tears. The best.