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  • Writer's pictureJenny Wynter

Toilet Trained Nirvana? I Think Not

So this whole ‘Caleb being toilet-trained’ thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I don’t mean that he’s peeing all over the house or leaving turd trails to find his way back to the toy-room, no…the problem is that he’s addicted to the potty. It’s my own fault of course, opting for the positive reinforcement strategy of ‘whoop whoop’ing and ‘woohoo!’ing every single time he successfully puts even a drop of anything in the damn thing: apparently some kids can get a little too hung up on the whole ‘mummy thinks I’m cool’ thing.

A sample routine goes like this:

Caleb gets ready for his nap.

Caleb decides he doesn’t want to sleep.

Caleb instead starts tearing off his pants and hurls himself onto the potty with such disturbing force that he’s quite possible rendered infertile.

Caleb huffs and puffs for a few minutes, stands up, looks down, cries out “Mama, I DID IT!!!!”

Mummy comes to inspect his produce – three drops of wee.

Mummy says “Well done, honey, you did it! Okay, now time for bed.”

Caleb says no. He is not finished. Caleb sits back down. More huffing and puffing.

This continues for a good half an hour, until he’s managed to squeeze out every last drop, like a desperate binge-drinker prying the last few drops from the Lambrusco bladder.

Nasty.

I can’t tell you how bittersweet this whole toilet training thing has turned out to be. Because as happy as I thought I’d be to turn my back on nappies, well…at least Caleb never had any emotional attachment to them.

My plan is to wait til he’s earning good bucks until I introduce him to the idea of ‘therapy’. Cos there’s no way I’m paying for potty issues. As far as I’m concerned, my work here is done.

Adieu.

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