If you’re curious about Elimination Communication or want to test your infant with this trend, (God help you) here’s some more background for you.

I was at the local library with my kids recently, checking out the periodicals in the children’s reading room when I came across a magazine headline, “To Catch a Pee: A Diaper Free Infancy”. You read that correctly. A Diaper Free Infancy. A toilet training practice known as Elimination Communication. Have you ever heard of this? Let me break it down into Wikipedia terms for you. Elimination communication is a toilet training practice in which a caregiver uses timing, signals, cues, and intuition to address an infant’s need to eliminate waste. Caregivers try to recognize and respond to babies’ bodily needs and enable them to urinate and defecate in an appropriate place (e.g. a toilet). (As if the toilet is not an appropriate place.) I mean, really? A life without diapers sounds great, until you get down to the part where you need to hold your newborn over the toilet every time he makes a face. Have these people not heard of diapers – in the convenient disposable and cloth varieties? Can you imagine trying this with your newborn, when you’ve had 2 hours of sleep in a 48-hour span and still feel like your vagina has been hit by a lawn mower? Sorry, friends. This woman tried cloth diapers at the beginning and then went on to use disposable ones due to a variety of reasons. I understand that EC may be a common practice in other countries where diapers are not a part of their culture. Even if I had won the Lottery the year my son was born, didn’t need to work every day and could pay someone to sleep for me, Elimination Communication would not be my cup of tea. Potty training my first born was a stressful enough time in my life (that I try to block out). Had I tried this, my husband and my dearest friends would have sent me away for their own sanity.

In case I haven’t shared, my new mantra in life is “Eff-it, I’m 40.” A woman once shared that this single phrase can justify any and all things, and any and all people (especially those who have a tendency to make you feel like crap about yourself). I turned 40 this year, and have applied this mantra to many situations, decisions and people. As a mother, I believe having this attitude is a good thing because their mom finally has some semblance of self-confidence with an ounce or two of self-deprecation mixed in. Many of you were born with a level of self-confidence that could make Gwyneth Paltrow appear insecure. Unfortunately, I’m not among your kind. I’m a confident mom and wife today, but a confident child and teen I was not. I am going to back up a minute about my lack of self-confidence. (This means I’ll be demonstrating what I like to refer to as a Jackie Tangent. Take a seat and hold on because you, my friend, are along for a choppy ride.) I don’t know if it was because I grew up in Texas where women are born looking like Barbie’s life-size twin sister or because I looked like a gawky boy with hair that had no possible way of growing into a Marsha Brady-like ‘do no matter how hard I tried. I also had a big brother who was good-looking, athletic and popular. I was so-and-so’s little sister for years. Now, I love my parents, and they always loved me and supported me in everything. (Think Ben Stiller in Meet the Fockers. I think I may have some 13^th place ribbons lying around somewhere.) In Texas in the 1980’s, designer jeans were a big thing. And the fact that we only shopped the sale rack at the discount stores didn’t help me. I wore no-name-brand jeans for longer than I care to admit. And when I finally scored a pair of Gloria Vanderbilt’s, I think they were two seasons behind from the sale rack at Marshall’s. (By the way, one of my friends from college has a 20-something sister who has never stepped foot in a Marshall’s. When she told me this, it rendered me speechless. Yes, me, speechless. Have you met me? She has no idea what she’s missing. I went shopping at a huge Marshall’s in Austin, Texas with a group of girlfriends this summer. It was like shopping in New York during the holidays minus the crowds.) I went to that store so often as a child, I didn’t know you could buy clothes anywhere else. As I got a little older and got a semblance of a grip about what other teens were wearing, my mother would let me shop at The Limited, Contempo or Express if and only if there was a blow-out sale. It wasn’t until I was around 27 that I bought clothes even if, dare I say it, they were not on sale. When I finally started buying brand name stuff, I would wear a new garment so many times in a row, you would want to hit me over the head with your designer hand bag (that you probably didn’t buy at Marshall’s). Eff it, I’m 40! I can buy what I want where I want (and bask in the glory if I found it on sale).

When and how did the 1980’s movies I watched as a kid suddenly turn into re-makes? Am I really this old? And why weren’t our parents aware that the PG movies we watched had the F-bomb or SH-word in every other scene? When I was 11, we rode our bikes to the movie theater or took the Metro Van (the suburban answer to public transportation) to the mall. It was all about sliding on jelly shoes, scarfing down buttered popcorn and watching the “foxes” from Tiger Beat magazine in action. If you haven’t already caught on, I was that dork that was not fully aware that she was a dork until her older brother hinted this at an impressionable age. I went to see the movie Footloose four times in a row with my best friend. We were 13. I had pictures of Kevin Bacon (oh yes, mini-poster size photos torn from Teen Beat magazine) taped to my bedroom wall. (Along with that poster of Rob Lowe that I think every girl had.) Please tell me I’m not this old. The inappropriate stuff in movies went over my head back then. If you’ve ever seen pictures of me as a pre-teen(and to my childhood friends from Seabrook, Texas, don’t get any big ideas), you’d understand. Let’s just say many of my friends developed early on, and I was not one of them. My bi-level hair style and size 0 Forenza jeans didn’t help much. We tried watching Back to the Future with our 10-year-old recently and had to turn it off after three minutes because of the bad language. There are so many reasons I want my son to love this movie and other movies from the 80’s, but I just can’t do it. One – I’m slowly turning into my mother. I adore her, but I can’t force him to understand. Number two – I don’t need my son to have a potty mouth at this young age just because his mom had a major crush on Michael J. Fox. I won’t have it. Michael J. Fox or no Michael J. Fox, he won’t be able to watch this movie until he’s 15. Holy Schnikes. How did I get this old? When I look in the mirror, I may see another woman’s chins, but inside, I’m still 14.  And I still see Kevin Bacon playing Ren in Footloose, period.

Clip from Footloose, circa 1984.