Week 3 of potty training and the two year old proudly shows the wee in his potty, flushes the big toilet by himself and even pulls out his widgy for an ‘eco wee’ against a tree on a country walk.
All good! The occasional puddle accident getting rarer and rarer and only when he’s really engrossed in something.
Number 2’s on the other hand.....
He seems to have no control or awareness of when that’s coming!
So being out and about over the summer holidays has been a nervous venture. With him increasingly angry as every trump, blank expression, withdrawal from the crowd or suspect smell, leads to me anxiously asking,
’Do you need a poo?’
‘Nooo!’ is always the answer. ‘I don’t want to poo!!!’
Last week I met a friend at a rather pleasant garden centre. All scrummy cakes, afternoon teas, Kath Kidson aprons, posh wellies, beautiful wooden toys and scented candles – you get the idea.
We sat amongst the ladies who lunch as the children played on the astro-turfed playground.
All was well.
We watched our offspring swing from ropes, slide, climb, bounce, run and generally have a lovely time playing beautifully together, problem solving without squabbling and being lovely.
While we sipped tea and chatted.
I felt so proud and then......
‘Erm’ I thought, ‘I wonder why the two year old is standing over there?’
He stood looking suspicious a long way from the other kids, a look of concentration on his face, small grunt escaping from his lips....
I ran over – too late.
Down both legs, seeping through his shorts and clinging to his crocs was the waste remains of everything he had eaten last week!
He has spectacularly pooed his pants!
Now, how was I going to deal with this? Firstly I removed him from the astro-turf.....
The baby change and toilet was a short walk away but through the restaurant I felt the sight of a poo covered child might put everyone off their cream scone or lemon merguine so I decided to take action there.
I moved him down wind of the face painter and away from the ever curious small faces staring at the two year olds predicament.
The baby wipes seemed somewhat insufficient given the scale of things but I battled on.
I couldn’t imagine what he had eaten he squirmed as I wiped what looked and felt like apricot face scrub off his legs.
‘Ow! Mummy, it ‘urts!’ he said.
I know I thought but your skin will be very soft afterwards!
We had been to the seaside last week and I wondered if this uncomfortable to wipe faeces was the result of the picnic on the beach, sand sandwiches!
The pants could not be rescued...
Bob the builder made the ultimate sacrifice meeting an undignified end in a nappy sack.
I carried the offending nappy sack plus the two year who needed sloshing out through the restaurant the lovely lady with the dirty dishes trolley approached me.
‘Can I take that for you?’ she kindly asked nodding at the nappy sack (not the toddler).
‘I’d better put it in the nappy bin’ I replied.
In the baby change were three sets of new Mummies with pristine babies and biscuit smelling nappies... I sheepishly placed my sack in the bin and scarpered quickly!
