A good friend of mine texted me today to tell me her son had christened the potty for the first time. I hasten to add her that she was also texting to say hi and wasn’t just regaling me with more poo stories. However, whilst remaining proud of her adorable little lad for firmly ‘dropping one’ in the pot; it was all I could do to not text back shouting;
“Noooooo don’t do it. Potty training is the devils work.”
I can pin point when I began to find parenting a challenge; and it began about the time I tried to cure my two year old twins of their incontinence.
Up until then life had been idyllic; the twins and I had moved through life in sheer happiness, skipping through fields of flowers and coasting on a rainbow.
Then potty training came along.
Two big ugly pink beasts with yellow inserts that could be washed and emptied easily into the toilet.
Once we had cracked the first hurdle, which was not, as Gina promised me, achieved in a week; and the nappies were banished life took on a whole new style.
Dancing through daffodils was replaced by bending behind bushes holding a bare bottom as far away from oneself as possible as a little present emerged and my need for a chiropractor increased.
We no longer coasted on a rainbow, instead we would slip over on little puddles left on the floor.
The days of leaving the house armed with a handbag, two nappies, and a packet of wipes were behind us. Replaced by a backpack full of wipes, six pairs of pants, two pairs of jeans, four pairs of socks, extra shoes and a couple of t shirts, plus a weird contraption called a travel potty (which had a design fault in that it couldn’t be opened quick enough to catch anything falling from the twins’ bottoms.)
I was always proud that the twins slept through from 4 months. Once my night time nappies moved out of our happy home so did uninterrupted sleep. Calls of ‘I need a wee’ punctuated my dozing. Calls of “I’ve done a wee” pretty much destroyed all kip as the art of changing a bed without waking the second sleeping twin became a sought after art form.
Car journeys have been at least doubled in length by incessant toilet breaks (most by the side of the road in sheet rain). Plus we shrunk the car seat covers after having to boil wash them after one particularly messy ‘accident’.
So I miss the incontinent days and I urge all parents to heed my words carefully. Little Johnny down the road may have left the nappies behind at 18 months but trust me his mummy will be wiping up wee and picking up random bits of poo for years to come.
If you need more convincing to live a life of incontinence, imagine going out on a girls night, drinking a tad too much gin and diving out of a cab, hurtling to the loo, to sit down gratefully on the throne to only find your arse cheeks trapped in a child’s seat loo seat. (I’m not saying this happened to me, I’m just saying it could happen…)
This never happened with incontinent children.
Potty training: it should be banned