“My son sometimes just takes his trousers down and poos on the grass” that’s what a friend told me today when I was discussing the finer details of potty training.
Today my daughter decided to wee in the play room in the doctors’. At exactly the same moment as she let pints of the stuff trickle on the floor my son had a meltdown. Then my daughter ran across the large doctors’ waiting room, wet knickers in tow.
It wasn’t my greatest moment, sprinting across the waiting room to catch my daughter, before grabbing my son out of the buggy while accessing kitchen roll and anti-bac wipes out of my many bags to wipe up the sheer volume of wee that was now creating its own rivers from the main puddle.
Then despite having cleared it up rather well I thought, I had to bow my head and confess to the receptionist. I say confess, she had just witnessed my knickerless toddler show off her athletic abilities and heard my shrieking son.
“I’ll have to shut it off and clean it” she said.
Hello embarrassment. Although this was only briefly better than the wee she did in the soft play centre with her dad, to which they said they would have to immediately close and do a “deep clean”. Six weeks into potty training and we’re going back to nappies…until she’s 20.
But at least she doesn’t do a dump in the park like my friend’s son. Guess I have to be grateful for that.