Those two little words filled me with dread.
Firstly, I wasn’t a fan of the phrase ‘training’. Something about it didn’t sit right with me. Children are not dogs to be trained. I prefer ‘learning to use the toilet’. It does what it says on the tin.
Secondly, the effort of it all seemed ridiculous. The carrying of multiple changes of clothes, the poo on the carpet, the wet patches left on restaurant chairs, the constant pulling over of the car, carrying around a plastic potty.
But pulling over in a million different lay bys has been the only real hassle so far. That over repeated phrase ‘need a wee wee Mummy’. I’m sure I’ll hear it in my dreams for years to come. Panicking as the road gives no signs of a place to pull in. The joint effort of removing potty and child from the car, racing to beat the impending flow of urine. The looks on the faces of passers by as you crouch at the road side, some sympathetically smiling with fond memories, others tutting at the public display of a child’s bottom in the fresh air. And then, ‘I’ve finished Mummy’, only to lift the child and find the potty bone dry. Repeat this twenty times on an hour long journey and you get the picture.
The other things have mostly been avoided so far. I think this has been because I’ve waited until Moo was ready, rather than trying to ‘train’ her because I thought she was of an acceptable age/societies expectations/my neighbours daughter uses the toilet already (delete as appropriate). One day, her game of using the toilet and wiping herself became the real thing.
A couple of nuggets of poo have hit the deck, usually on route to the potty corner. Easily cleaned, they haven’t caused much fuss. Because its been Moos decision, she’s rarely caught off guard. I just take some spare knickers. Summer has been an ideal time, we can do dresses without tights, which is much easier than pulling down trousers. The potty fits in the very spacious changing bag too.
We’re not out the other side just yet. Moo is still wearing a nappy to sleep, although she often wakes from naps and she’s dry. I’m desperately sad to be leaving my cloth nappy adventure behind. I became a slight addict, craving the latest TotsBots prints and pegging them neatly on the line. Although rows of tiny cotton knickers look pretty good too.
I’ll never have a baby in nappies again. I have a girl, a small but perfectly formed grown up girl that uses the big toilet. I can hardly believe that we’re here already. I’m cherishing every moment, because I know that it won’t be long before she can take herself to the toilet and doesn’t like to hold my hand while she squeezes out a number two.