Potty Book

I saw this and it made me smile.  And then I saw Martin D's 'post' and immediately thought of Eddie.

Because, and here's the thing:  I decided at half term that, since I would be home with the kids, it would be the time to potty train Eddie.  He seemed keen, the weather forecast was good (outdoor activities planned as part of carpet protection scheme) and it would be the summer before I had that kind of time to spare again.

It was an unmitigated disaster.  Day one went something like 8-0 (Carpet v Potty).  Day two was like war.  There was screaming, and tantrums, and Eddie wasn't particularly well-behaved, either.  By day three the plan was abandoned, and we remortgaged the house to pay for the additional nappies needed for the next few months.

And then, the following Friday, he announced at nursery entirely unprompted that he would be, "wearing big boy pants today, thank you".  They duly phoned us for permission to oblige; we laughed down the receiver and thought of the washing he'd be bringing home.

Nope.  Not a bit of it.  No accidents.  Not one. Perfectly potty-trained.  The nursery congratulated us on what a good job we'd been doing.

And that just about sums up Eddie: Nobody is going to tell him what to do or when to do it.

Ever, I suspect.

Anyone want to buy a truckload of nappies?



Currently Reading: The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver

Remembrance

Gertie's school-starter inquisitiveness is relentless. She was pre-occupied with poppies in the run-up to Remembrance Day, and wanted to wear one. But in typical Gertie fashion she also wanted to know exactly what it was all about. I tried to explain as gently as I could (after all, she is only four) that we were remembering all the soldiers who had died in war.

"What's war?" she asked.

Where do you begin? I was reminded of trying to explain the word 'hate' to her about a year ago, which really signfied the start of the end of innocence.

I gave as sanitised an explanation as I could and bought her a poppy.

She rushed home from school the next day and looked at me as if I was stupid. "Well you didn't tell me that poppies were a symbol and they were red to represent all the blood, did you?"

I suppose I should have been ready for that after she came home a few weeks ago in the run up to bonfire night fascinated by the idea of the 'plotters', the notion of being hung, drawn and quartered and heads on spikes.

On a happier note, there is cause for another day of national celebration: Eddie slept for nine and a half hours last night, hooray! This is impressive at seven weeks old, and particularly exciting after his nocturnal start to life. Mummy and Daddy high-fived in celebration upon waking this morning...

It may have been helped by the fact that he had his very first swimming lesson yesterday afternoon too. A big day for the little man, and a big night for his parents.

And let's not leave Gilby out; the big man has quietly got on with his potty training, does the whole thing without being asked and is now regularly having dry nights. Go Gilby!

Smashing Pumpkins and a Raging Raisin

Here are Gertie and Gilby splendidly painted as pumpkins for Halloween.

Eddie, alas, is too new for face-painting, but it doesn't matter because when he screws his little face up for a good screaming cry he resembles a particularly scary halloween pumpkin anyway. His new nickname is the 'raging raisin' on account of his newborn wrinkliness combined with his ability to ratchet up the decibels. I wonder if this is typical third-child behaviour, borne of the need to be very loud to make his demands heard above the others...?

We are winning, finally, with Gilby and the potty training; though the timing of a severe bout of diarrhoea was not helpful to this process. Enough said.

Now Going Ga Ga

So. We are driving along in the car and the radio presenter encourages the listeners to stay tuned for the Lady Ga Ga track coming up shortly.

"Mummy, I love Lady Ga Ga!" pipes up two-year-old Gilby with gusto from the back.

I'm sorry, did I mention that my son is just two? How can you love Lady Ga Ga at two years old? This is seriously worrying! Particularly when his mother isn't particularly a fan, and has never before had cause to mention Lady Ga Ga's name. Where has he got this from? I blame the Aussie.

Oh, and on day three of potty training: Carpet 3 - Potty 1.

Going Quietly Potty

I may not have fully thought through the timing of this, but today is Day 1 of Potty Training Proper for Gilby. He is almost 2 1/4 now and really starting to show signs of interest, not least in the excitement demonstrated over the choosing of the 17 pairs of 'big boy pants' that we have invested in in readiness.

So. I've read Gina Ford (not usually a great fan, but Potty Training in One Week is exactly what I'm after, so I'm ignoring the patronising tone and trying to follow the advice). We have umpteen sets of spare clothes and pants (well, seventeen, to be precise). We are restricting ourselves to two rooms: the kitchen and the sitting room, both of which have been made as 'accident-proof' as I can manage. I have smarties with which to bribe, toys on hand to occupy, two potties at the ready, a cupboard full of disinfectant and a bucketful of patience in reserve. We're off!

I also have a 16 day-old baby. One who, up until this morning, has mostly slept through the day and kept us awake at night. But of course, Eddie has picked today to reverse the pattern, and has been awake since 7.15am, pretty much uninterrupted, aside from two 20 minute naps.

Which has meant that I haven't been able to devote quite as much time as I would have liked to Gilby's needs. And, though we have strict rules about television (as much of the bedtime hour as supper and a bath allow in the evening and some programmes on Saturday morning) I find that by 11am I have already succumbed to the controlling power of CBeebies.

By 2pm we have had three accidents and a grand total of no potty wees. Gilby has begged to have his nappy back. Eddie must be having some kind of growth spurt as I have been feeding him constantly. There is yoghurt up the walls (another story). I have just about managed to get myself dressed and my kitchen and sitting room look like an advertisement for Toys R Us.

I don't know about Gilby, but I am going quietly potty...and my bucketful of patience has only a few drops left. Ah yes. Maternity leave. I remember it now.

Double Announcement

Though it is not quite on a par with the proclamation of a royal wedding, today I would like to announce that my son, aged 16 months, finally took his first steps.

Hooray! They were a long time coming, but worth the wait. Clearly he is now the cleverest little boy ever to have walked upon this earth.

There has also been a development with Gertie. She has decided that only Daddy has the necessary skill and power to wipe her bottom after a poo.

I'm celebrating this one with equal satisfaction.

Fright Night

It is summer, moonless night in the small village, starless and bible-black.

Suddenly a violent shriek erupts from somewhere outside the bedroom. A loud yelp follows almost instantaneously; then a few seconds later, a prolonged cry from the nursery.

I am terrified, and push my husband from the bed to investigate.

Daddy discovers that Gertie has wet the bed. Kempton, the new puppy has somehow found herself upstairs, inspite of the forbidding stairgate at the top. Gilby has also woken. I go downstairs to make up some milk and find myself clearing up a puddle of puppy-widdle. It doesn't help that I knock over the first bottle, spill watery formula everywhere and have to start again.

A sequence of events emerges. A sleepy-headed Gertie must have emerged with damp pyjamas from the bedroom to be confronted unexpectedly by the puppy, of whom she has a deep fear. She gave out an involuntary (and inhuman-sounding) scream. This woke her little brother, who was terrified by the commotion and rendered inconsolable. The milk was not enough to allay his fears and it took a good forty minutes to get him settled again.

So if we include Kempton's yelp, that is at least four of us who were frightened out of our wits last night. And two of us who had to clear up wee.

Dry Night

We forgot Gertie's nappy last night.

She has been out of nappies during the day for nearly six months, but we only occasionally and apparently randomly have a 'dry night' and so she has been in a pull-up overnight for ages.

She was getting lazy though, and would just wee in it some nights, immediately before bed, as an excuse to get back up again. Very annoying, and of course they are not cheap. So we had taken to putting it on very last thing, post-last-visit-to-the-toilet. Except that for some reason we didn't put the nappy on at all. It sort of got lost in the goodnight kisses and bedtime story.

And so she came in this morning and it was the first thing she said. Accusingly. "You forgot my nappy. That was a bit silly."

I leapt out of bed immediately, imagining untold horrors in the bedroom. Unfounded.

So now I am wondering whether having the nappy on is the reason for Gertie not being dry at night. She will be three this May, so I suppose that we ought to get on with it.

Any advice for taking this next step gratefully received...

Three Wise Mothery Things

I am thinking in threes this week due to nativity overdose: three wise men and three shepherds (and only three more presents left to get).

So here are my three gifts in Christmas week, my Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh. Three things which I have learned since becoming a mother, and which have featured with varying degrees of drama in my life this week:

1. Never wear a long dangly scarf or beads while supervising a potty situation.
2. 'Messy play' is a great idea, in theory.
3. Sick over one shoulder is perfectly acceptable; over two, suggests carelessness.

Number one speaks for itself, really. In number two, whilst my back was turned red paint became lipstick and an ugly scene ensued. Number three was pointed out whilst I was at a Christmas party. Nice.

Knickers and Alligators

I'm often reporting the things that Gertie says that I find entertaining, but this time her father is the unwitting subject.

Gertie has successfully completed her potty training now, and accidents are rare. She did have one at nursery the other day though which resulted in her having to borrow a pair of 'nursery nickers' which I duly washed and put in her bag to return.

Daddy does the nursery run on his way to work, so responsibility was left with him. It's always done on the run and on this occasion he dashed in with the small pink knickers held aloft and called out to one of the (young, female and quite attractive) staff, "Jade, these are yours," before realising the implications of what he had said. There were smiles and blushes all round, apparently.

By the way, is anyone else opening their 'alligator' every day through December? Gertie finds a piece of chocolate in her's each evening.