Wees, Poos and Potty Training

 

 

Wees and poos...its what conversation comes down to over a cup of tea and a custard cream, when you're a parent. What it looks like, what it smells like, the colour, the area that it covered, how much of it got on the bed / your jeans / your fingers and whose turn it is to change the next one. The sooner the Gremlins are potty trained, the better for the bank account, though talking about wee and poo doesn't end when you wave goodbye to nappies. At the age of 5, Owen delights in telling us in the middle of a restaurant at the top of his voice that he needs a poo, and when you accompany him to the loos, he'll ask you to pull his finger then you hear every strain, fart and plop followed by "did you hear THAT???!!!!" while you smile politely at the bemused person beside you washing their hands. He won't wipe, he won't flush and he won't wash his hands so every action has to be verbally prompted. I even have to remind him to aim or he'll stand with his hands on his hips and a smile on his face and soak the bathroom floor. Like his father.

"I've got a kink," says Dad.
"So sit down!" is my unsympathetic response.

Wet socks are the norm in this house. As is sliding off the wet toilet seat. Yes, wee and poo are a big part of parenthood. We've all had that small brown smudge on our sleeve and tentatively held it to our nose praying that its chocolate. Changing little boys nappies is a race against the clock to see if you can get it done before you get sprayed in the mouth. Little girls just end up in a puddle with wee in their hair. My dog has eaten the odd turd filled nappy. I recall the screams of horror coming from the bathroom when Owen was about two years old, had crapped in the bath then threw it at Welsh Gransha. I've learned through experience not to give Ava more than one Satsuma per day unless I want to hose her down in the shower following an up-the-back explosion. You know you have achieved maximum skill when you can remove a baby's vest following immense nappy leakage without smudging fudge in their hair. And you quickly learn to block off your nose and breathe through your mouth - though I learned that skill when I met Dad way before the Gremlins came along.

 

Finding somewhere to change nappies in public places can also be a trial of sorts. I've sat on a loo whilst balancing a baby across my lap, laid them across the car seats, done it in the middle of a shop, in the park and in an airport waiting area. What boils my beef the most is public places not having a baby change area with a toilet for the parent. Where am I supposed to put my child whilst I spend a penny (or a two pence)? On the floor? Leave them outside? Or leave the toilet door open so that I can see my child whilst the world can see me letting one out? One time when Owen was a baby, I was flying on my own with him from Bristol to Newcastle. Whilst at Bristol airport, with no pushchair, I needed the toilet. The regular toilet cubicles were tiny. The disabled toilet had nowhere for me to lie my baby and unlike a man I can't get my bits out with one hand whilst balancing a child in the other. The baby change room had no toilet, so after ensuring that Owen was safely strapped onto the change table, I hopped up and weed in the sink. Then I told everyone about it on Facebook.

 

When your child gets older, the next issue is going to public toilets together without your child opening the door as you're pulling up your pants and flashing where they came from. I suffered this embarrassment recently in Asda using a "family" toilet, which to my mortification, was a large cubicle with a door that was so far away I couldn't jam it closed with my outstretched foot, it opened outwards into the shop and had a lock at fiddle-height for a small child. So after Owen decided to open the door wide for all to see, I had to hop up mid-flow with my knickers round my ankles to slam the door shut in front of a crowd of open-mouthed parents shielding their children's eyes from my front bottom. Then pulled Ava's hands out of the sanitary towel bin.

 

What also frustrates me is businesses that don't let small children use their facilities. Children are not like grown ups - they can't suck it back up or squeeze it in. When Owen was about three, he chose an inopportune moment to inform us that he was bursting, so Dad politely asked a restaurant owner if Owen could use the little boys room. He said "no" because we weren't paying customers. So Dad took Owen around the side of the building to pee against his wall instead.

 

Now that Ava's decided she'd like to help us wipe her bottom during a nappy change (sometimes without a wipe), we decided the time may have arrived to start potty training. We've spent many a day chasing around her bare behind with a potty in hand. She'll sit on it...look in it...then wee on the floor. We've tried bribery. We've tried dangling food. Owen delighted in showing her how to do it, though because she doesn't have a visible device to do it with, this may have just confused her. She stayed at her Grandparents' house recently and they decided to assist with the toilet training mission. After she crapped on the bathroom floor she then peed in English Grandad's slippers (he doesn't yet know this - he might now). But I think that's progress. At least she's doing it in something now and not just letting it run down her leg. I can't remember how we potty trained Owen but I remember it being one of the hardest things that we've had to teach him so far...and are still teaching him...but I'm beginning to understand that this is one skill that men never fully grasp anyway. Dad feels a sense of pride when he farts without having to change his pants.

 

So even though Ava delights in telling us when she's pumped or done a poo, even though she helpfully stands guard, stares and hands us the toilet roll when we use the toilet ourselves (and sometimes sits on our knee during the process), and even though she enjoys weeing in objects (such as slippers), we've decided that she may not be ready for potty training just yet so we'll give it another month or so before we try again. The big girl pants are ready. As is the kitchen roll, face mask, rubber gloves and sieve. For the bath, if you were wondering.