about turn!

Since my last post life has been ticking over – nothing much changing, Naked Chef Husband has been working hard at his new project, I have also been working pretty hard, and little companion has been growing up day by day. He talks so much more, he is funny and naughty, and is a delight to be around. He has also started French school which is helping his second language skills no end.

In my first post I talked about the two number twos that are most commonly talked about when you are mother to a toddler. I am... well, pleased isn’t exactly the most accurate word to use right now, but maybe relieved would work? Yes, let’s say that I am relieved to say that we have ventured into the scary world of potty training (one of the number twos) which I have to say is... well, not that scary actually.

Before we started, I read up in what we call ‘The Book’ which consists of anything from Internet articles to Gina Ford to Miriam Stoppard to a whole bunch of other people’s books – basically it is the resource pool that you refer to when you have no idea what you are doing. I refer to The Book regularly, in many different walks of life. I bought Little Companion a book called I want my Potty by Tony Ross which planted the seed of doubt about how great nappies are in his mind – as Little Princess (main character in said book) says, ‘nappies are YUCKK’ something that Little Companion now gets great satisfaction from repeating at high volume.

Just quickly - I feel like I've come into the genius that is Tony Ross a bit late in the game with Little Companion's developmental mile stones - there seems to be a brilliantly illustrated 'little princess' book for everything from potty training to eating solid food - how have I only just noticed these fantastic and funny books?

In the first week our saintly Nanny, went in the deep end, with pants and trousers at all times, and not a nappy in sight, which resulted in, on average, 6 accidents a day and precisely no bodily fluid ever going anywhere near the potty and our volume of washing doubling over night. Not successful – back to the drawing board i.e. back into nappies while we regroup and have a think about how to address this, now, problem.

Second week was a no go - mainly due to us all - as in me, Little Companion, Nanny, Naked Chef Husband and My Father, not being on the same page as one and other, nappies were well and truly donned in that week. Potty was nowhere to be seen.

Naked chef husband and I had one of only two memorable disagreements  we’ve had this year on the topic.  I’m pleased to report that he eventually conceded and told me that I was unequivocally right and apologised. HA! Talk about Breaking News... Not to delve too deeply into the nuances of the disagreement, I felt that both he and my father – another of Little Companion’s primary carers, couldn’t really be arsed with potty training.  The reason why I thought this is because they are both massive neat freaks and they hate the thought of any type of mess in their homes'. My beliefs were backed up with hard evidence - when I’d asked both of them, on separate occasions, in a fairly nonchalant manner how the potty training had gone, they had both said something along the lines of, 'Oh, he wee’d on the floor, so I put him back into a nappy'. Not exactly the report I’d been hoping to hear.


After Naked Chef Husband shouted at me, saying that 'living with me was like living in army barracks’ (fairly harsh, I think) and 24 hours of silent treatment, the aforementioned complete U turn and apology happened, and we were both, once again, singing from the same song sheet. Potty training will be messy – there will be rank bodily fluid involved, but everyone that looks after Little Companion has to be on board with that reality, and carry on with the plan anyway or it won’t work.

Week three seemed to be taking after week two, until my mum looked after Little Companion for a day. They stayed at home and pottered about, he was naked from the waist down and was verbally encouraged by my mum ever 30 seconds to sit on the potty. Is this where the phrase 'pottered about' comes from?? (side note - no this is where the phrase comes from...) This resulted in success – and praise was then showered on him, in the form of what I like to call rewards, but most others would call bribery: Chocolate Buttons! Following on from this casual break through whenever we are at home Little Companion is essentially naked on the bottom half, and voluntarily goes for a wee wee in the potty. Hurrah! Success! He is consistently rewarded with chocolate and it works! It was endorsed by my mother, and is therefore not morally corrupt.

We are yet to venture out into the great wide world without nappies (apart from the disastrous first week) but I have a feeling that the introduction of chocolate into the equation means that this step is not far off at all.

There are two things that I have learnt through this process – the first is that mum’s really do know best, and the second is that being calm and not too bothered by things really is the best way to keep your sanity whilst striving for success.

I reckon that by July we’ll be completely potty trained. She says with absolute confidence. Ahem.

Number Two.

In theworld of motherhood the phrase Number Two conjures up two main images I’m not sure which I prefer really...

The first is that wonderful delighted feeling you get when a whiff of faeces wafts your
way and you cry, in your most light, innocent voice, 'BABA, HAVE YOU DONE A
STINKY POO?'. Then, if like me, you are the mother of a tall for his age two
year old, after a few 'No’s, and laps round the living room which puff you out
and make you feel a slight twinge of guilt that you haven’t quite managed to kick your 4 delicious and cherished guilty pleasure smokes a day habit/been to the gym or yoga for a couple of months, you manage to heard Little Companion upstairs and the process of clearing up said number two commences.

At this point you may wonder if I aught really to be beginning to think about potty training - he is two after all, eating normal grown up food and therefore... Well, you get the point: it’s not exactly a pleasant thing, changing my beloved son's nappies. I remember when I was childless and my then, only mother friend would bring her son round who had a love for blueberries and would actually poo in blueberry (had a slightly purple tinge and tiny seeds throughout - fascinating), I would wrinkle my nose in a slightly disapproving manner, as she began the process of clearing up the soiled nappy. I would drop not so subtle hints and say things like 'should he still be in nappies??' and helpful things like, 'God, I don't know how you can do that...' if I could go back and slap my childless self I absolutely would -bitch that I was. I have since apologised for wearing my Judges Wig when I saw her all those times… She smiled wisely in that way that people who have older children than you do. (I’ve been practicing the smile on the two pregnants in my office. It's accompanied by my Knowing Hat, which looks rather like the wizard's hat from Fantasia’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.)


Blueberries!

In answer to the original question, Yes, I am thinking about potty training, and I have to say it fills me with dread, and completely exhausts me all at the same time. Having said that, it cheers me up that at some point Little Companion will most definitely go through the process of potty training - I mean we all learn at some point, don’t we?! And I will come out of the process with a few more of your wonderful English pounds in my pocket, with brilliant, really small and therefore cute, colourful and cartoon underpants to hang up, and a mood hat of smugness mixed in with relief and triumph. I believe this hat would look a little like the one that Napoleon used to wear. Joking aside (well, I say joking I really mean humorous truths aside) I will probably start potty training our little man in the spring and summer, so that he can run around naked - if he's anything like his dad this will bring joy unbounded, and we'll cross that bridge then. I will most probably talk more about this process when this bridge to the Napoleonic Smug Hat is in the processed of being trudged across...


Napoleonic Triumphant Smug Hat

The second Number Two I would like to address is the theoretical little person that is Baby Number Two. Baby Number Two is discussed almost from the point of the birth of your first child. People think it's funny/clever/a really good topic of conversation when two zombified parents of a 6 week old child, who can barely think past the next milk feed, who have perpetual bags under their eyes, manage to make it to the pub to see their friends. These friends have either made it through this phase already, or are yet to experience the prickly, fog inducing, low level exhaustion that only a new person in the world can bring its parents, and while stifling giggles, ask when exactly these new parents are planning to have the next one, nudge nudge, wink wink! The new parents tend to widen their eyes at the thought of it, smile weakly and mumble something about never again/not for a couple of years, while in your head, or at least in mine, anyway, you're really thinking, 'We're at it like rabbits bareback style already. Want to get pregnant again as quickly as possible. Think a 9 or 10 month age gap is perfect...'

In certain circles – one in particular that I had the pleasure of spending the intense 3 months before and 9 months after the birth of Little Companion with, where Mother Earth, natural birthing, (how bad it is to have) pain control during labour, breastfeeding, weaning, teat types, buggy types, baby massage, buggy fit, after pregnancy exercise, baby yoga, basically anything natural, expensive, guilt and paranoia inducing and baby orientatedis completely obsessed over and discussed to within an inch of its life, my experience is that these folks think they will accurately plan the age gap between Baby Number One and Baby Number two.  To be fair to them, most of them do, successfully. I however have a slightly different outlook. I tried for, and really wanted a natural birth, but Little Companion was breach, so the hospital decided for me - I was to have a C-section. I tried to breastfeed, managed and am proud of what I believe to be a whapping 11 weeks of almost exclusive  breastfeeding (with gallons of milk being expressed, eventually resulting in my milk supply depleting and causing me to have to do half breast, half powder, when I thought, what the hell kind of thing am I putting myself through here - You've had a very good run by lots of standards, so if you want to stop breastfeeding, give yourself a break, so I did) Little companion is healthy, happy and none the wiser that I didn’t make it to the (NCT members, look away now) 6 months breast feeding mark….

Little  Companion, while being an absolutely delightful, most loved, welcome and
awesome addition to our family, was not exactly a planned addition, which in
some ways makes him all the more wonderful in my eyes.


SURPRISE!

While I was trying to fit in with the group of Earth Mothers/Diamond Encrusted Women described above, who most definitely would never have a surprise baby like I did, I thought to
myself, I’ll have Baby Number Two when Little Companion is about two and a half
to three and a half. I am a (sort of chaotic, yet hugely control freaky) planner
– just ask my ‘It will be fine’ husband (argh!! How will it be fine?! SHOW
ME!!?), I like to know what’s going to happen, and to be able to control things.
But when it comes to Baby Number Two, my experiences seem to be, planning too
much only bring stress – things don’t seem to go to plan when conceiving and raising
children, and stress is most definitely not what you need when you have a
toddler, a newish full time job, have just moved house, had a pretty rocky
Christmas in terms of marriage, an ever red bank balance, lots of wonderful
friends and family members who you are desperate to see regularly, a husband
who you love deeply, but rarely get to see before eleven on week nights due to
his job.

So number two, faeces or intimate details about when you next plan to conceive... not
sure which I’d pick, so maybe I’ll be donning my 'sitting on a fence’ hat:
think white, with long dangly bits at the sides, like the Stuarts, or Mormons.