Don't Stop And Smell The Flowers

My son refers to himself as "The Boy", so I will respect his wishes and also call him that here.

I'm not trying to potty-train The Boy. I was going to try, but it became painfully evidently clear that it will not work. He is not ready. Neither am I. To start with, I know nothing of potty-training as I've never done this before. I have read all the books, listened to all the advice, and taken all the criticism I choose to. I still have no clue. The Boy is not ready. He told me so as he was crouched as far behind our wood-pellet stove as possible: face red, veins popping, eyes squinched shut. "Do you need to go poo?" I asked him casually and suavely as I edged closer, looking for a limb to grab so I could, smoothly and in full control of the situation, rip off his diaper and kick the potty underneath him. "NO!" This was more of a primal grunt than his usual rebel yell. Hence, I deduce: not ready.

Not ready, but apparently wanting the freedom that potty-training comes with. It's been hot and muggy here, too much for an active little toddler to take. So I stripped him down, sprayed him in sunblock and bug repellent, and let him rip around the yard. (We live in the country with no neighbours closeby.) I was puttering around, distracted by the beautiful weather when suddenly my attention was caught.

"What are you doing?"

"I water flowers."

Don't stop and smell the flowers. At least, not in our yard.