It all started so well. Little Miss, who had just had her second birthday, began to display all of ‘the signs’ that she was ready to make the move from Nappyville to Toilet Town. She started to give us regular bowel bulletins throughout the day (naturally always at high volume in the Tesco queue) “Mummy I done a poo-pooooooo!” She became fascinated with our own grown-up toilet visits, accompanying us to the loo like a tiny (and ridiculously nosey) bodyguard.
Now, we had read all about ‘the signs’. We had heard all about ‘the signs’ from our parents, our siblings, our trusted parenty- friends. In fact I actually *believe that there are records of ‘the signs’ dating back to biblical times. (*guessing) But anyway, it became abundantly clear that you should NOT ignore ‘the signs’.
So we decided to go for it. We hadn’t really planned on starting this ‘adventure’ yet. (let’s call it an adventure – it makes it sound so much more fun than it actually is) But, you know, there was all that really reassuring ‘sign’ stuff going on, so we thought what the hell, let’s roll with it.
And like I said – it all started so well. Day one she spent an hour or so prancing around excitedly, nappy off, sitting on the potty like it was her own personal throne. And then on day two – ‘Mummy!!! Daddy!!! I done it!!!! I done a wee-wee!!!’ And sure enough there it was – her first proper wee in her potty. Naturally there was much celebrating. She was proud. We were proud. And here’s where it all went horribly wrong. Here’s where I got smug. And cocky. Two words that always only ever lead to one thing. To the shit hitting the fan.
And that’s precisely what happened the next day. When I, in all my smug, cocky, glory, decided ‘Well that was a doddle. Let’s do that again today’ and I left her roaming freely, nappyless, in the lounge, probably feeling a bit smug and cocky herself to be fair (like mother…..) while I popped into the kitchen to make a cuppa.
It all happened quite quickly. A good deal of it around the potty. Suffice to say none of it in the actual potty. Horrified, Little Miss started screaming, trod in it and ran it all around the house while not-so-bloody-smug-now Mummy tried to contain the damage and calm her down ‘it’s okay baby, it doesn’t matter……’ Oh yes. The shit really had, quite literally, hit the fan.
In the days that followed Poo-Gate (as Mr O and I now like to call it) poor Little Miss was heartbreakingly shaken by the whole thing. She cried every time her nappy was taken off, she begged to have it put back on her as soon as she got out of the bath and when she saw one of my mums dogs squat down to do his business in the garden, she rushed over, put her arm around him and said ‘It’s okay Gussy. It doesn’t matter.’ And I spent many hours cursing my cocky, smug, stupidity and fearing that my poor, scarred for life, daughter would be still wearing nappies at age twelve.
A few weeks on, having totally stepped back from ‘training’, given her much reassurance and us all time to recover, she has just started to show a bit of interest again and sit on the potty of her own accord. I have absolutely no doubt that going forward we will have a few Poo-gate sequels and our plan is to continue to ‘keep calm’ and go with the flow on our adventure (yep, still calling it that). But please, I’d really love to hear your thoughts, tips and stories. Especially the really reassuring ones that make reference to ‘the signs’.