Don’t for a second think that this is going to be a useful post about how to toilet train your toddler. It’s so not. Don’t get me wrong I would love to boast about the art of successful potty training but it did not happen that fluidly in our household. Toilet training has been one of those unexpected little parenting challenges I didn’t anticipate or appreciate. Not the degree of challenge involved anyway. I don’t recall anything making me want to froth at the mouth and call mercy quite so much. If there was anything that was going to turn me to a pot addict it might just be toilet training a little boy.
It’s one of those things. The kids who you wouldn’t expect have the hang of it in 48 hours and the ones who are super cluey are often the ones who end up pooping on the carpet for the next 6 months. Go figure.
I have a sometimes trained toddler. If I take him he’ll comply but he won’t give any clues as to when it’s a need to situation. Plops, as they’re known in our household were easy to begin with but now the kid seems to have a bit of a hang up on doing them. I’ve tried to look back and consider if I’ve inflicted anxiety on him about it but I can’t recall. It’s just gone all a bit AWOL.
Little Vick has figured out how to manipulate me into letting him wear his preferred outfit of choice. His birthday suit that is. He’s fairly crafty. It’s the if you let me run nude I’ll comply and I’ll be toilet trained. If not, then I’ll give you my shitty jocks to dry retch over and clean all day long. But it’s winter now and that whole nudie thing isn’t quite so practical.
Yesterday, was definitely a highlight in this toot training journey. Nothing could over shadow this one. The morning started off with Little Vick playing outside in our driveway. I look up and there is our boy pooping outside our neighbours unit on their footpath… our conservative, fastidiously clean, wench of a neighbour. Oh Lordy…
Then there was the poo smeared on the wall when we had a little runaway and the poo on our newly steam-cleaned carpets and the 3 pairs of dirty jocks in one small afternoon. I tell you, Easter was the start of this trouble. Easter time did something to that kids bowels that is not natural. I vow to remember this: Easter you are evil.
We’ve tried ice cream, we’ve tried chocolate, we’ve tried ticks on the fridge, stickers, book prizes, high fives and dancing around like banshee’s, even a fireman’s hat (he was toilet trained temporarily enough to win that prize, of course).
I do admit I have contemplated whether or not I should adopt the cat toilet training method which my mother swears by (not that it was her method of training us kids). The one where you rub ones noise in their mess so they won’t forget their accident. You know I am kidding, of course, but the thought has crossed my mind…..
Some other definite highlights in the journey have been:
The first time we took a trip out nappy free. The daunting prospect had to be over come at some stage and I’d done all the right things and sat him on the loo before leaving, talked him through what he needed to do if he needed to go… and yet, I looked down whilst we were in the middle of Target to witness a little puddle directly underneath Little Vick who was looking most perplexed about how it got there. Of course I had not a single thing to wipe it up (moron) and it was all witnessed by a first time Mum to be who had a snobbish demeanor on her face which suggested she believed she would never find herself in such a situation. The naive know better, right?
Then there was the time when I snuck over to a relatives pool on one hot summers day for some relief admittedly without the proper attire for Little Vick to wear. It was during work hours so no one else was home. It was blissful and relaxing until Little Vick decided it was time to let one rip. I knew nothing about it until I saw millions of particles of floating poo bobbing around the water only to start quickly sinking to the bottom. I was both horrified and in a flapping panic trying to collect all the poo, in my bare hands (since I had nothing else), before it disintegrated more and more and it became the big pool of shite and I’d have to admit my actions to my sister in law. I was trying not to drown Little Vick at the time too. So I was a baby juggling, poo collecting preggie. What a farce. Needless to say, I covered it, she never found out (until now).
Then there was the most hair raising moment of all in the toilet training journey. It was a close call. Definitely a wake up call about safety. Peeing can be deadly and I’m so glad we have our Little Vick after he decided to piddle on a double adapter board. I’m not sure what possessed him to do so. It’s no Lemon tree.
There’s been weeks of fully toilet trained behaviour. Those weeks I am doing my little Hallelujah dance about the place and giving myself pats on the back for my excellent mothering. Then there are days like yesterday when Little Vick pooped his dacks and my visiting gf offered to help me clean him up in which I glamorously responded nah thanks, I’m a professional shit cleaner now.
It’s been 5 months now since this journey started and it seems I’ve got one of those boys who knows how it all works but mostly choices not to bothered. Mum will clean it up after all won’t she? I thought I was so smart getting this sorted before Baby Vick arrived. Sooooo smart. Actually, sooo baffled and challenged now. Toilet training a toddler, can be one of the shittiest jobs in the world and if it doesn’t turn you to a pot addiction then you’ll certainly learn it’s a journey which just takes time and an unnatural amount of patience. I see that now.