Here we go again… potty training for the third and definitely final time; two words that strike terror and apprehension into any parent’s heart. I am remaining positive and dreaming of a new carpet (very necessary) and enough money saved on nappies to finance a Penney’s spree.
I can remember training Conall 5 years ago; we were optimistic enough to have his name down for playschool that September. I figured we’d the whole Summer to do it and any parent worth their salt will tell you that’s the best time, let them run around in their pants without getting hypothermia.
The first few days there was no success whatsoever; he would cooperate and sit on the potty for hours, getting off only to pee on the carpet. His thighs held the imprint of the potty and there were times that I put a blanket over his legs and a movie on to relax him. He seemed happy with what he thought was a new seat. The house was sodden with pee but that wasn’t the worst of it.
He loved the freedom of unbridled pooing. I caught him out the back once actually dropping a log on a log. Another time he pooed his pants and his feet got tangled in the mess as he tried to remove them and he tore off up the hall leaving brown footprints. I realised what was happening (my parents were over for dinner of course) and I screamed at my husband to catch him but he was like the gingerbread man (dropping chocolate chips). He tore up the (carpeted) stairs and across the (carpeted) landing and jumped onto his (freshly laundered) bed. I was rooted to the spot and when I eventually made my way upstairs, my Dad intercepted me like the butler in Downton Abbey saying it might be best (for her ladyship) if I went downstairs. Ossie had Conall in a football hold and looked at me shaking his head, tears in his eyes. The smell hit my nostrils and I screamed “NOOOOOOOO, we’ll have to move house, or at least burn it for the insurance!” I could hear my Mam downstairs unscrewing the top of a vodka bottle. The clean up was a blur and the more we scrubbed, the more tangible the odour became… fart-fragrance febreeze, shake n crap, Cilit bangs… you get it. We ended up hiring a steam cleaner.
At this time Conall was a big fan of watching nursery rhymes on youtube and while watching humpty dumpty he pooped his pants. Being a curious 2 year old he had to have a look so he had a rummage and getting bored went back to changing the clip by clicking the mouse and then had a bang at the keyboard. I did my best to clean both with cotton buds and dettol but for months my hand smelt of poo if I sent an email and all had to be binned.
We ended up deferring playschool for a year and postponing the training as I’m sure you understand due to our house was becoming bubonic at this stage.
Koray was much easier and was fully trained a few months after his second birthday. The carpet did endure some more urinary accidents and his pants have seen more than a few skid mark situations but nothing on the armageddon scale of Conall’s training.
This brings me to number 3, Rian. He has been ready to train for a long time but we had to wait until he had healed fully from his willy operation. We started last Monday (and when I say we, I mean Ossie as if left up to me I’d have them in nappies for life, much more hygienic than their crop-circled pants and I wouldn’t have to deal with toilet seats being left up and piddly puddles on the floor and sometimes the wall!!!??). He has been brilliant, every poo has hit the potty, although the other two have been taking lazy wees in his potty in the sitting room when my back is turned, MEN!
When this is done, I may start a carpet fund if anyone would like to donate as it is currently held together with years old milk, bodily fluids and miscellaneous gross stuff. I think it’s time to bring back “the good room” that nobody can enter. My Mam is a big fan of them and I’m starting to see the sense, one room I can let visitors into without their nose crinkling in disgust and a look of incredulity at the torn wallpaper, writing on the walls and nameless stench.