Something in my fancy, leather baby book caught my eye. I couldn’t believe it, so I reread it a few times trying to make sense of it. In my mother’s handwriting, in amongst all the things parents record about their first born, there it was: Potty trained at 2 ½ months.
Good Lord. Not only is that not feasible, but it’s also not possible, measurable, sustainable, nor appropriate. But there it was, nonetheless.
I asked my mom. Surely, I was misreading. But oh, no.
“I was competing with Marie next door”, mom offered with a nervous shrug. Marie had a daughter of similar age. I wonder what she saw in her baby book.
Jesus Christ. I’m still offended.
I tossed that nice leather book into the garbage years ago. Who wants to read that dysfunctional trash anyway?
