“
I remain in denial. The potty is out of the cupboard under
the stairs. The Thomas pants are in the drawer. Every day, many times a day, I
invite the younger boy, 34 months, to sit on the potty. Every time he replies:
“I’m not going to do that.” So much of childrearing is so much easier the
second time round. This is not one of those times. Although experience has at
least taught me that when he says he’s not going to do that, I should believe
him. Our nearly 3-year-old is articulate, resolute, cartoon Italian
temperament. He is very clear he is not ready for potty training, as defined in
chapter 3 of the NCT Successful Potty Training Handbook (with tips at the back
for carpets – white vinegar and water) and will not become ready. He does not
want to wear big boy pants like Sophie/Tom/Joe. He wants the promised movie
merchandise robot toy, but on balance not that badly.
So what now? The classic potty training impasse goes to the
heart of the impossibility and tedium (and obviously the smell) of the
parenting task. We are meant to get this boy not only to do something he
actively doesn’t want to do, but change his mind to want to do it – or it will
never work. The psychological size of this blows my mind. What I remember most
about potty training the firstborn (dead of winter, 9 changes a day, bit of
marriage guidance towards the end, the end being some 8 hellish weeks after the
beginning. And define “end”, he’s coming up 5 and still wears a
nappy at night)... Yes, it’s all coming back to me now... what I remember most
though was the step change in behaviour (for the good) when I finally stopped asking
incessantly whether he needed the loo
and he finally started taking charge of the problem.
I’m done with guides, Gina Ford or otherwise, out of my
league, I leave all that to those who run ships way tighter than mine. None of
them anyway start as they should, Step 1: Become easygoing, and here are some
magic herbal teas. There has to be a plan though, I concede, and the
endoftether potty guide, right after the bit about herbal tea, goes Step 2: Set
tariff (one smartie for a wee, two for a poo). Stockpile smarties. 3: Buy as
many pairs of TV character pants as the supermarket has. And then go to another
one and buy some more. (Never wash pooey pants: sisters, we don’t do that. Never
let sole-earner husband see you throwing away pants. Never invite him to wash
the pants then.) Also buy up multipacks of thick tracky bottoms, v absorbent. (Some
of these you may have to wash, unless there is inherited wealth.) And get some
of those disposable changing mats, you never know, you might save the couch or
carseat from a drip or two. 4: Resign yourself to one entire day at home and
most of the week. 5: Put child in pants (coax if possible), stand well back.
It’s step 4 I can’t get past. Staying in my own space is the very scariest prospect. Oh, just wait a bit longer till he’s ready, advise the
well-meaning. All this boy is getting ready for is louder shouting and faster
running away. Wait I shall, but let’s be clear this is cowardice, not strategy.
I need to gird my own loins before we get to his.
”