At the beginning of this year I took a trip to see my youngest daughter's Godmother in India. Things in England were a little rocky and testy so after nearly 3 years without a break I decided to abandon ship and head out to Bangalore without either of my children. I was in the sky for my 30th birthday and was numb with freedom (and booze I suspect) and delighted to be relishing 2 whole weeks of no Mummy responsibility. My friend has a son, but that's HER son and her sister, who was also coming out for a holiday, was bringing her daughter, so there were children around to fill the gaps should I (and it turned out I did) need them.
Long story short, the sister was potty training her daughter. When she told me, I was anxious and amazed and sort of panicked all at the same time. I had been contemplating potty training before I left. Potties were in situ' in all the major recreation areas, the lavatories that the children used were equipped with seats that make the cavernous hole of a grown up lavatory into a more welcoming and less scary place for a toddler to put their little behind. However, we had reached a stumbling block, Jessica didn't want to use to potty unless she was fully clothed. Put her on the loo and I am sure the neighbours were wondering what sort of torture we were inflicting on our eldest, so we thought we'd let it run a little.
I'd embraced potty training, just thought children took to it like a duck to water, who wouldn't want to get rid of nappies and get on to a potty that made a noise like a duck, or a pink throne that played a ditty whenever there was any excretory action? Who wants to sit in their wee and their poo? Well, as it turns out, children like it, or at very least, they don't really mind it. At least mine certainly don't. It's the thing that they know, no one likes change.
So, my friend's sister was tackling this almighty task with a calm assertiveness that made it look easy. Accidents were happening, they were bound to, but it was cleaned up and dealt with before I even registered that an accident had occurred. Successes were marked with praise and clapping and cheering and trips to the toy shop to chose a special "I weed/pooed in the loo today" toy. It was eye opening, and by the end of the holiday, I returned to my eldest daughter with a renewed potty training vim and vigour.
Wees came a lot easier. We had "wee wee sweets', once that was established and the link was made between wees in the loo and sweets Jessica would sit for a day on the loo until a wee came and the demand a sweet and then head back to the potty or loo to wait for the next occurrence. Poos on the other hand, they were a nightmare. They were so nightmarish that I thought I was going to kill myself before we'd got the hang of it. Sweets didn't work, empathy and sweet talking didn't work, and although I am very ashamed, knowing what I know now, to admit it, stern rapprochement didn't work either. Jessica would still disappear behind the sofa, wall, door, into another room, outside in the garden and then come back and say "there's a poo Mummy!" as if someone else had put it there. Then one day, I said to her, "did you do that?" and she said "no, Daddy did!" moments like that are surely why we have children?
It was at her 2 year check up with the health visitor that I learnt that, one day, it will happen. There is nothing you can do. Whatever happens though you mustn't get cross, it's not their fault, they need to recognise the feeling, understand what is happening and make the decision, trust me, it will just happen one day. I didn't believe it, I wanted to, but just thought she was giving me the "this one looks like a nutter, we'll tell her something to save her from total break down" chat. But, sure enough, one day, she took herself off upstairs, announced to her father that she needed "a poo on the loo", he duly obliged and since then we have not looked back.
She still wears her night pants, we've tried taking them away, but the washing machine keeps threatening to leave home, so we're back in them (she is, we're not, our parents dealt with our need for night pants). I have to remind myself that it's not a race, it doesn't matter if she's still in night pants at 18, if that is what makes her happy and comfortable then who am I to judge? More to the point who is anyone to judge? It'll happen, one just has to believe it. If you're at this stage, enjoy it, it's all good tittle tattle for the Christmas/birthday/new boyfriend dinner table and that's what keeps us sane.
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