Tomorrow

Although Aaron has started wearing underwear to school, he is still more likely to poop in said underwear than in his potty. I've tried every threat and every bribe I can think of - I even promised him that he could stay for lunch at school every day (something he asks for constantly) once he pooped in the potty three days in a row.

It's not like he doesn't understand the concept. At almost three-and-a-half, he knows that big boys poop in the potty. And it's not like he doesn't want to stay for lunch, or earn a lollipop, or get a Lamborghini on his sixteenth birthday, or any of the other insane rewards I've offered in my desperation to end my decade of diapers. It's just that his plan is to poop on the potty "tomorrow."

"I will," he vows sweetly, his big brown eyes open wide. "Tomowo." (Both twins are still struggling a bit with their Rs.)

And even as my eyes roll back in exasperation, even as I dismiss him: "Aaron, you say that EVERY DAY," I realize that tomorrow is also my excuse for everything.

I'll write tomorrow.
I'll run tomorrow.
I'll stop eating myself sick on matzo toffee/peanut butter ice cream/leftover birthday cake tomorrow.

All this time, I've considered myself in the throes of a mid-life crisis, when in actuality I'm stuck in a pre-life crisis, dealing with my problems the way my three-year-old does. Anything effortful, anything that requires discipline, and work, and sacrifice, I'll do tomorrow.

And I know that has to change, otherwise I'll have a lot of regrets when I finally run out of tomorrows.

So, I'm going to try, really try, to start doing more today, instead of letting myself off the hook by shifting everything to tomorrow.

Starting, naturally, tomorrow.