Monday, 5 December 2011

Another Fine Mess

Today I decided to bite the bullet and potty train Screecher Creature No. 3.  I am a firm believer in waiting until they are 18 and having it done in a day, so I was going against my own instincts on this one.  He is only 2 years and 4 months, a good 7 months younger than his older brothers when they were trained.  And therein lay the problem methinks.  That and a modicum of greed on my part. The prospect of having only one in nappies by Christmas was extremely tempting if only for my pocket, but just getting the whole sorry, messy business out of the way was also a good incentive.
He had been showing eager for a while and I was reminded of this “window” people liked to mention and, terrified that I was going to miss it, I decided to forge ahead.  Our boy had already used the toilet a couple of times and regularly tells me when he is “going” so I felt he was ready.
We spent a little bit of time last evening telling the apprentice what was going to happen today.  He was going to be the happy inheritor of 5 second hand Buzz Lightyear underpants and the baby was going to get the rest of his nappies.  How did that sound?  It sounded better to him than it did to me, I felt.
Before I went to bed I dug out all the old and bobbly tracksuit bottoms I could find.  These were in storage for the sole purpose of the job in hand.  They were also hand me downs from the 6 year old.  I made a promise in my head, that one day, I would buy the two year old and the baby something brand new that they could call their very own.  Even the potty is so old, the once blue plastic seat has faded to white.
So day one in the Potty Training House dawned bright and frosty.  There was a bit of cheating from the outset.  I am in possession of an item called The Piddle Pad.  It is a dimpled piece of seating that you place on the car seat in under the potty trainee and it absorbs any accidents.  But after the school run on a morning such as this, I like to go for a cup of coffee and a scone before I go home.  It is essentially my breakfast.  And I was not risking an accident or two in the café so Screecher Creature No. 3 was kitted out in a pull ups.  It was coming off as soon as we got home and the training would begin in earnest.
And so it began.  In much the same vein as it was for the other boys, the mantra’s of the morning were, “do you want to see if you have wee’s for the potty?” and “if you do wee’s in the potty, I’ll give you a treat.” 
His were, “No,” and “No.”  Just to change the record a bit, he also said with alarming regularity, “wee’s on the floor” and “all wet, Mammy.
The laundry basket was full by 11am, my floor was so clean you could have eaten your dinner off it and I was fast running out of tracksuit pants and lining up the pyjama bottoms. 
Then it was time for his afternoon nap and out came the pull ups again.  No resistance from Himself but there was plenty at 2pm when I wanted to put him back into his “big boy pants.”  He wasn’t having any so I caved and left him to it. 
There were no clothes left.  Definitely no patience left.  I thought it best to call a halt to the day before there was no child left.       
I’ve changed my mind.  I want a puppy.  The mess would be less.  It has to be. 

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