To summarise, potty training is gross for all involved. I promise, my son used to retch at the smell of his own poo in a potty. And fair enough as it does smell like chemical festival toilets. We laughed at him as Ed retched at the stink of his own waste…but we were the ones retching as we had to empty it down the toilet. I was worried about potty training, I will be honest. Less worried than my husband who seemed to think Ed not being potty trained meant he was one crappy nappy away from assisted living, but, I was concerned that all of our friends kids (PEER PRESSURE!) were happily asking for “wee wee’s” and “poopoo’s” and ours was happily sitting in his own luke warm stinking faeces. “He will do it when he is ready” “Don’t worry, when he wants to use the toilet he will let you know”. Chuff off mother of child whose 2 year old proudly struts about in M and S big boy pants with trucks on. But, deep breath…it is true (and Rachel, Jake will get there. *patronising thumbs up*). I was told by a mum of four outside the playschool gates that it is a hormone, apparently. They have to get this hormone which kicks in and tells them “you know what, I am ready. Ready for the PANTS!”. I don’t know if this is actually scientifically true. I did a bit of google search at the time and didn’t come up with anything, but I was happy to believe it. I started asking my mum, “when did I get my hormone?” and found out I was very advanced so blamed Ed’s nappy bill on my husband. He retorted with “I could read kawazaki at 2!”, my mum piped up with “Hannah could tie her shoelaces at 18 months” and it turned into some bizarre competition irrelevant to potty training. But yes, “the hormone”. I don’t know if this is true, but what I do know is this…we kept asking him, doing all the right things “do you need a wee, Ed? Shall we try the potty”. “nope”. Ok. Breath in. Etc etc etc. Sticker charts we tried. Bribery; If you do a poo on the potty mummy will (shamelessly) give you these chocolate buttons. Nada. And then one Thursday morning, completely out of nowhere whilst I was changing yet another of Ed’s poopy nappies…Ed says to me “I don’t want to wear nappies anymore mummy. I want to wear big boy pants”. In my panic to run upstairs and grab a pair of big boy pants (with trucks on…from M and S), I forgot about the used poopy nappy I had just taken off Ed and came downstairs to find Alex with a handful of his brothers crap. It was a bittersweet morning. But that is how it happened in our house for Ed. He just, announced it. “Mummy! I am a man. I am ready for pants! BIG BOY pants! Bring it!”. Not quite like that, but I imagine if he could articulate a little better he would. We have our accidents and only today I learnt this is normal for boys, even at 4 years old. My friend recounted a time she went into her boys bedroom and there was a poo on the bedside table. She, calmly (didn’t want to freak him out and regress him…nappies are expensive) asked him how the poo got there. He told her a rabbit fairy did it. (Reading this back…maybe he said “rabid fairy” and she misheard him? Some kind of delinquent infected fairy bitch who wanted the boys mum to be cross at him. Must suggest this to my friend).
TagsAlex amazon angel gabriel be kind to yourself blogging booze bribery bullying cakes chicken pox chris mooney Christmas contact dancing david cameron diet eric stoltz Friends ginger gingerbread house hannah ibuprofen infection kids laugh London mary mental Michael McIntyre my mum nativity nightmares OK Oyster Bay parks rage REALLY running school softplay Tescos the cinema TV vegetables wine
Boys on Train