Keeping up with the Crappers

My oldest son turned three today.  Everything about that sentence kind of weirds me out.  Regardless of whether or not it seems possible, however, it is true.
We are in the midst of potty training, the one defining thing thus far of parenting that has made me either want to hug or slap other parents.  I never thought that I would feel the pressure of keeping up with other people, of comparing children and their accomplishments (because, you know, children are just extensions of ourselves.  Oh, wait, no, that's not right....well too late now, we've chosen our parenting philosophy and we're sticking with it), but with the potty training....yowza.  When my son turned two, we started to think about potty training.  All of the signs we were supposed to be looking for (turns out there IS a manual on parenting, we just haven't been reading it, or getting updates) were never there, so we continued potty readiness watch and sat back.  But then I was pregnant (hence the 'oldest' in my opening statement.  Clever, no?) and it suddenly seemed important to lay some sort of toilet foundation before a second child made the scene.
It didn't go well.  Let's leave it at that.
Then came mommy and me swimming lessons.  Something I wanted to do, not so much to teach my son how to swim, but just as something to get out and do with him as our last 'mommy and JUST me' hurrah before the second child showed up to teach him all about how unfair and inexplicable life will always be.  Something.....FUN.  But the other parents apparently didn't read the same class description that I did, or maybe it was me that had other ideas for a 'Mommy and Me (Dads welcome!)' swimming class for 6 months and older.  The other moms were determined that their kids succeed dammit!  PASS that mommy and me swimming class!  Go to the next level!  Dominate their peers!  Other various marketing style slogans!  They were actually 'practicing' during non-class time.  Getting their kids to jump in from the side to them, blow bubbles in the water, put their faces in the water.....not because these things will lead them to lay a foundation to build upon for later swimming, but because they wanted their kids to pass the class to be able to take the next class.  They wanted some sort of paper certification that their kid was a winner, given to them by a teenager who passed a lifeguard course.
What a fool I was, there to have fun.  After listening to these moms drill and yell at their kids to do all of the things we practiced! I probably shouldn't have been so surprised when talk turned to other out of pool accomplishments.  However, I was surprised when it turned to potty training.  In an 'anything you can do I can do better' style of repartee, it all boiled down to one mom who had gone 'diaper-less' with their child at one year old.  Um, yeah.  You say 'diaperless' I say 'the world is now their diaper.'
So here I am with my old man 2 and a half year old still in diapers, the pariah of the group because I have not invested in my son's future therapy by forcing him to conform physically to something he isn't ready for yet but would be nice and convenient and cheaper for me (in the now, I mean, diapers, therapy, diapers, therapy, maybe they figure the therapy won't be on their tab?).  But as much as I felt these women were crazy lunatics, it still got to me.  MY son wasn't potty trained.  Maybe in his little heart he was really longing to be potty trained, and I was holding him back.  One of the moms asked me quite pointedly how old my child was, probably motioning for the other moms to see the swim diaper as I converted his age into months for them (the only age standard those moms understand).  There were murmured condolences, as if I had just explained that my child had some sort of mental disorder, and even some shaking of heads.  One mom actually looked right at my third trimester pregnant belly and said that she definitely wanted her son to be potty trained BEFORE they had another child.
So I slogged home, feeling sheepish, humiliated and very defensive.  Of course, my son had no idea that we had just been called out in super mommy universe.  In my head for the rest of the day and until the next swim lesson, I formed all sorts of sarcastic and snide responses to them, making me feel a little George Costanza-ish, but also better in some weird way.  And then, when time came for the next swim lesson, and they were all gathered around to squawk about how many words of three syllables their children could recite (ther-a-py), I remembered, I can't stand these women.  What do I care?  Their children were picking their noses and butts and were dirty and pushing and just generally KIDS.  And I laughed.  Because it doesn't matter.  The only thing I can really do 'wrong' at this juncture would be to push him too hard, to put too much pressure on him, all for the sake of my ego.  And so we had fun.  We did NOT pass the mommy and me swim class.  We laughed at the kids who trained to pass the class.  We just spent time together.  We stuck to the plan.
And now I have a three year old who runs into my kitchen in order to crap his impossibly tiny briefs with a variety of Pixar characters on them.  And all I can do is make laundry my best friend.  And measure my mommy success in things that no longer gross me out or make me want to puke.  Or in the fact that I have kept that boy alive for three years now.  I must be doing SOMETHING right.  Of course, tomorrow I could sell him to gypsies too.