Last week was half-term.
Sonny Jim had no pre-school and I decided now was the time for my almost-three-year-old to finally figure out the whole toilet training thing.
Having spoken about this a fair bit (honestly, as soon as you become a parent I swear suddenly 50 per cent of all conversation starts to revolve around poo) I’d not been rushing the issue.
The general consensus among my mummy friends was that you’re best to wait until your child is ready – rather than when you think they should be – else it will become a battle. And you won’t win.
Until very recently, Sonny Jim had shown absolutely no sign he was in any way ready to give up his pull-ups. But in the past month or so, me, his daddy and his preschool “aunties” had a feeling potty training might be soon on the agenda. He would tell us when he’d done a poo. He was no longer unbothered by a wet nappy. He was talking more.
So, last Monday, we went for it. Daytime nappies were no more. And chocolate buttons were the bribe of choice. He spent two days naked from the waist down and the soundtrack to our days was me asking “wee coming yet?” accompanied by the theme tune to endless episodes of Thomas the Tank Engine and Fireman Sam.Within a few days though, he seems to have mastered it. His only accidents have been while he’s napping.
But as amazingly productive as it’s been, I have found it possibly the most draining part of parenthood so far.
Being unable to take your eyes off a two-year-old for even a moment (you don’t want to spend four hours waiting for him to wee, only for him to do it on the floor!) and being prepared to potty-dash at any given second had me in a state of high alert that had me reaching for the wine the very second he was asleep. I can’t be alone in this?