It’s 1:43pm, and I’m sculling down a second bottle of apple cider. Really, what I need is a few shots of Vodka. If you’d just spent the morning wiping up wee and trying to work out what the f*k one is meant to do with a child’s poo, you’d be feeling the same way.
Mr 2 is upstairs. I’m pretty sure he’s wide awake. In fact, he’s probably lying in his bed, playing with his trains and just waiting for the next wee to arrive, just so he can see my face when I walk into the room and discover his latest accident. He will look at me with his big, round eyes, feigning innocence and masking the unmistakable smugness that comes with knowing someone else is going to clean up your dirty business.
I know, deep down, that he doesn’t actually mean to pee in his bed. Or all over the floor.
But right now, I don’t believe it for a second.
Right now, I feel duped.
Right now, I am pissed off.
Right now, I am stressed.
And right now, I am, without a doubt really, really (several different types of) shitty.
Because the blog posts and the parenting books don’t tell you about this part of toilet training. They skip how disgusting it’s all going to be. They use euphemisms like “accidents” or “dirty” or “poop”. They don’t tell you how disgusting, frustrating and utterly horrible it is trying to teach/convince/bribe a child to GO TO THE DAMN TOILET. Instead, they talk about toilet training like it’s as simple as baking a cake. Just follow these steps, and he’ll get it. Eventually.
Relax, the books and mummy bloggers say, Of course it’ll take some time for them to learn it. But they will.
Bullsh*t.
Who can relax when you’re trying to toilet train a toddler? Who has patience when a little human being – the human being you happened to be responsible for bringing into this world – is dropping little bombs all over the kitchen floor and giggling while you try to work out what the heck to do first?
Do you rush them straight onto the toilet and leave a trail of pee in the process, or do you let them stand there and stare at the growing yellow puddle on the floor? Do you pull down their pooey undies and risk smearing it all over their legs – and your hands – or do you let them finish their business and tip that crap into the toilet and throw the undies out after?
I. Still. Don’t. Know.
Don’t get me wrong. We’ve had some victories. He’s peed in the toilet. He’s peed in his portable potty. He’s even peed in an intelligent, musical potty and gets to listen to a recording of his dad and I say “Yay!! Well done!” when he’s finished. He’s peed in lots of different (correct) places. But mostly, he just pees on the floor. Or his bed.
This is not fun.
Actually. The ‘training’ part of potty training simply isn’t working.
I was venting to a work colleague (who doesn’t yet have children but does want one or several). He smiled at me and said, “This is the part they don’t include in the parenting brochure, isn’t it?”
Yes. If there was a brochure for making babies, the “Needs to be trained to pee and poo in the correct places” and “Has the ability to drive you mental in the process,” is either left out entirely, or it’s in really fine print.
So is the part where you may will need to self-medicate.
The books tell you the toilet training equipment you’ll need:
- a potty or a toddler toilet seat,
- a tonne of wipes,
- mattress protectors,
- bicarb soda (for soaking up pee on carpet)
- about a hundred pairs of underwear, and
- treats when they do their business in the right place (yay!).
But they don’t tell you is that you – as the trainer – are going to need your own treats.
A pillow to scream into, for example. Someone to drop off lunch (because there is no way in hell you’ll have the time, energy or focus to be able to cook a decent meal on toilet training day week month). Chocolate. Alcohol. A therapist.
(On a side note, I can’t even have chocolate because I gave it up as part of #REDFEB. Feel free to make a donation to Heart Research Australia, because giving up sugar in the same month of toilet training is a TERRIBLE IDEA.)
People talk about pooing babies. Pooing babies have NOTHING on pooing toddlers. Because toddler poo is just like adult poo. Except that adult poo is only ever found in a toilet. Toddler poo, on the other hand, can be found A-N-Y-W-H-E-R-E in the goddamn house.
How is it that people don’t share how horrible this part is? And WHY DON’T PARENTS TELL EACH OTHER HOW TO DEAL WITH IT??
Because, while I love my little human with my whole heart, there have been moments in the past week I am reeeeaaallly angry with him. I shouldn’t be, I know. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know.
Man, we take so much of what we know for granted. Knowing that I should crap in a toilet and not in my undies was something I never thought I’d be grateful for. But I am. Oh, how I am.
Now here’s another thing I’d be grateful for. If you’re a parent and you are reading this and you managed to survive toilet training. HOW THE HECK DID YOU DO IT? From one insane parent to another, I’m begging you to tell me. WHAT WAS YOUR SECRET? (Besides the alcohol, obvs).
Update: After publishing this post, I went to check on Mr 2 and found him in bed… with a poop in his undies. Do I:
a) Wake him up and alert him to the ‘accident’ so we can clean it up, knowing he’s unlikely to fall back asleep after all that;
b) Try to clean it up without waking him (I’m not a magician… this isn’t going to happen); or
c) Leave him to sleep in his crap so I can finish my cider (Anti-Mother of Year award nominee, yet again)
HELP?