This Toffee is a tough cookie. Stubborn, almost to a fault. Does things entirely in his own time, and cannot be pushed into doing anything he does not want to. This will serve him well as an adult, but like I’ve said before, I’m having a hard time time surviving him as a toddler.
Potty training. Something he wanted nothing of, a short month ago. Underpants were the devil’s work and he’d shriek and cry if I even brought underpants within a 3foot radius of him. Now he’s cool to wear underpants, cool to make a wee in the toilet, but hasn’t quite made peace with number 2 in the toilet. Wants nothing to do with it. Wants nothing to do with having a dump in a nappy either. Nope. Every poo has now turned into an impromptu in-pants party. Usually at the most inconvenient time. Yesterday, when we’d just got home from the succulent show. We were locked out the house (still had access to the outside bathroom, with a toilet) and Toffee decided to drop one in his underpants. Really awkward to clean without wet wipes so I had to wash his butt under the garden tap, with my hand. While my back was turned the sausage dog ate the contents of Toffee’s underpants, so there was one less mess for me to clean up. It also left me gagging for a few minutes.
Another new favourite place to let one loose is the bath. Usually while his brother is in the bath with him too. This happened the other night, when dad had gone out to gym and I was bathing both boys before bed. (Sidenote: we have a deal. I changed all the shitty nappies, dad does all the puke and fishes faeces out of the tub) Suddenly The Kid leapt out of the bath with a shriek “MOM, TOFFEE DID A DUMP IN THE BATH”. I ran in to check.
Sure enough. Massive poo. Just floating there. I got them both out the bath, and went back to clean up. Just my luck. My husband hasn’t been to gym in months, but the one night he decides to go, I’m left with a shitty situation to deal with. I think maybe letting the water out of the bath will be a good idea, so I do it. I come back into the bathroom, and there’s this turd. Just sticking up out of the plughole. Fuck. There’s still some water in the bath, so I can’t use toilet paper. I reach my hand in, and the poo disintegrates, leaving me scooping shit out of the bath with my bare fingers.
I tell my husband about it when he gets home. He’s laughing so hard I want to hit him. “Thanks for not leaving it for me to clean up,” he says, “I’d have been pissed.”. And suddenly I am pissed. Pissed with myself, for not even thinking of leaving it for him to clean up. Toffee has poo’d in his pants a few more times, over the last few days. Always with a “sowwy, mommy” that’s so sweet I can’t bear to get cross. As much as I know that I don’t want to cause any potty issues, I’m getting a little grossed out. I know that it’s a rite of parenting (are you even a parent if you haven’t held your child’s faeces in your hand?) but I am so done.
I’ve paid my dues. Handled your shit. It’s time, Toffee. Time to make a poo in the toilet, PLEASE.