Those of you who read my pregnancy diary may have noticed that I dropped off the face of the earth, or at least Eumom, at the latter stages of my pregnancy, and blogged no more.
My apologies for the long silence. It’s only now, 15 weeks later, that I am beginning to speak in sentences – as opposed to guttural grunts and one word commands barked at the husband. So – seeing as I do remember how to use my pc – I am finally delighted to report the birth of my healthy and beautiful son, at 4.58am on 5th January 2010.
I have always thought of toilet/potty training as an unavoidably messy business. That was until recently, when I overheard a conversation which shed a completely new light on things.
In our house, we approached this phase of our young son’s life with military detail. Was he ready? Were we ready? Were the mop and bucket ready? Did we have all the ‘stuff’: potties, booster seats, steps, waterproof cover for bed, stickers for reward chart, treats?
I agonised for an age over which ‘big boy’s pants’ to buy – Bob or Thomas (thinking this may be the one thing which made the difference in the success or failure of our planned attack).
Then, a weekend in April was targeted as ‘P-Day’ and doors locked, rations at the ready and rugs rolled up, we went into training lockdown. Luckily, our young man took to it all remarkably well and apart from washing lots of clothes and floors for a while, it really wasn’t so bad.
The conversation I overheard went something like this:
Mum 1 – “So, how was Hannah when you trained her?”
Mum 2 – “Oh, fine. The crèche trained her really. They pretty much had it sorted in a week.”
Mum 1 – “Gosh. That’s quick. Did she have many accidents?”
Mum 2 – “Oh loads. Her dirty things came back in the crèche bag every evening.”
Mum 1 – “Just wet, or dirty?”
Mum 2 – “Both usually. I just threw them straight into the bin”.
Mum 1 – “Oh. You didn’t wash them?”
Mum 2 – “God no. I just bought loads of packs of cheap pants from Pennys. Why would I bother to wash them?”
I resisted the temptation to lean over and add, “Maybe because you’re her mother and that’s what normal people do?”
Or maybe she’s the normal one and I’m odd? I do have to go through this all again with Number 2 so I would quite like to know.
Answers on a postcard please……