Things that make me vomit. And other fun stories about toddlers.

Many may be needed.

 The day I hoped would never come is here. Or rather I hoped it would come, but I hoped someone else would have to deal with it. But no, no other mother has popped out of the woodwork offering to take over my role for a few months. So…… it is POTTY TRAINING TIME. 

I have enjoyed each new stage up until now (apart from the hellish non-feeding phase of the first baby which I have conveniently blocked from all memory). The weaning was fun, the walking, the learning to feed themselves, talking (offensive swearing toddler aside) — all good stuff. But this, this is something I am ill-prepared for. Mentally, physically, emotionally, I am just not a potty-training type of person. I have a number of  issues here: 

1. I am not a massive fan of talking about bodily functions. I  cringe when I hear myself saying “can you do wee-wees for Mummy?” and my voice drops four volume levels when I ask my little angel if he needs to do poo-poos. The thought of having to spend the next few weeks (months? years?) talking about this is KILLING me.
2. I have a physical problem with the whole poo thing. Yes I know, newborn poo smells like popcorn. Well, I don’t know what kind of food you’re feeding your children, but not my newborn’s. I hate poo. It smells bad. I have been known to retch at my own child’s poo. (There was one incident in the bath that caused so much retching that my son started crying in fear, but that’s a whole other story more suited to Jacqui’s tales from the poo front). And it’s one thing dealing with it in a nappy, but having to view it, handle it, put it in a loo? No thanks. Seriously, I’ll pass. It’s going to need industrial gloves and clothes pegs on noses. All this without causing son to need therapy from mother making him feel bad about normal functions. A handy side issue I was unaware of until picking up the guide book – awesome.  Which brings me to…
3. The books about how to actually do this poo thing. I salute people who do it without a book  (not pooing obviously, the potty training). How the hell did you know where to even start? I just bought Dame Gina Ford’s (I added the Dame, just a personal preference. Jacqui would like her stripped of the title) Potty Training in A Week, and have purchased everything needed for this hideous project – I literally have ‘all the gear but no idea’. I read the book this morning. And wanted to curl up and sleep til it was all over. Or possibly send son to mother-in-law’s for three months to be returned clean and dry.
4. And there are the heinous story books on the subject designed to get your little person ready for the potty. I came across Once Upon a Potty. It’s American and seriously cringe inducing as she talks in a god-awful tone about potties, diapers, making poo-poos etc. And yet, my son LOVES it. Wants it every night. Bloody Joshua and his bloody potty on his head.
5. And then there is the fact that I am undoubtedly going to screw up the whole process. I have already made a fundamental error which I suspect might be irrevocable. I totally ignored Dame Gina’s advice to only use food bribery as a last resort. We haven’t even started yet and I mentioned chocolate this afternoon as a reward for people that wee-ed in a potty (hey, it worked to get him walking, why not? DON’T JUDGE ME, HE WALKS DOESN’T HE?). Tonight I had the potty out for the first time and we had three wees on the potty in the space of a 20 minute bath.  Each time with louder requests for chocolate. So on one hand, yay, wees on the potty. On the other hand, he may well have put on 40 kilos by the time the whole process is done. Chubby little fucker v incontinent 14 year old – tough one.

So Thursday we are kicking it off in force. We’re going into lock-down, Thomas the Tank Engine underpants have been purchased and I’m going out to stock up on commercial sized sacks of Smarties. If anyone has any tips, please send through. It’s only a few hard weeks I know. 

Oh god, I just remembered I have another child. Kill me now. 

photo credit: Zaprittsky

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