1 Mother 2 Another

Wednesday morning Cora and I went to the
grocery store, taking a quick potty break before heading out. After
arriving home, I was putting groceries away when I heard from the
downstairs bathroom, “Mommy, come look at this.”


I ran in, and Cora had not quite made it onto the potty. I
reassured her, got her cleaned up, and we went on with our day.

Two hours later, we were playing tag at
open gym. I turned to run away, heard, “MOMMY!” and
turned back to see a puddle forming under Cora’s feet, her
leotard darkening as the gym floor got soaked. I carried her to the
bathroom, cleaned her up and dressed her in her warm-up suit, and
took her home, thinking, “Maybe we called this potty-training
too soon.”


Sixteen hours later, I was sleeping soundly at 3 a.m. when I heard,
“MOMMY!” and sobbing. I ran to Cora’s room and
– you guessed it – her bed was soaking wet. Now, Cora
has not peed during the night for over a year – she’d
awakened with a dry diaper for a long time before giving them up.
“I didn’t even know I had to go,” she said
miserably as I washed her legs. “I know, baby, but
we’ll need to put a pull-up on you now, ok?” I said
gently. Cora nodded, miserable, and said, “But I hope I get
back to big-girl underpants soon!”


Brian held Cora and rocked her while I changed the sheets, and she
kept saying, “Daddy, I am so sorry! I’m so
sorry!” And at that point, I knew something was wrong.


We avoided any accidents on Thursday, but only because I left her
in a pull-up and the humiliation caused her to work extra hard
– that, and because I put her on the toilet every hour. But
by Thursday afternoon, it was official: Cora’s got a urinary
tract infection.


This is especially frustrating because she’s been on
antibiotics for almost a week for an ear infections. How can she
possibly get a UTI with antibiotics running through her? But she
does, and she’s miserable, and I feel miserable for her.
She’s so embarrassed she can’t hold it, and she’s
in pain, and the doctor can’t change the antibiotic until
after we get the definitive test results back, which means it may
get worse before it gets better.


Cora knows she has to wear pull-ups until it gets better –
and understands it’s not anything she’s done wrong.
Still, it’s hard for her. I caught her yesterday peeking into
her panty drawer and whispering, “I’ll see you soon,
big-girl panties.”


My poor girl.